


A Proposal of Sorts

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, aggressive hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-08-23 16:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: When Draco Malfoy shows up at her door saying that he has a proposal, it isn’t the type that Hermione Granger expected. A diamond ring now on her finger, she and Draco must navigate their way through a sham engagement if they hope to convince anyone. Only then will Draco have a chance at restoring his family name — and Hermione a chance at helping stop the recent attacks on Muggles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [In_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/gifts).

> I present you all with my humble offering for the best trope in existence, fake dating. Inspired by a drabble, intended to be a one-shot, expanded into a six-part tale. Gifted to the wonderful In Dreams who shares my love for this incredible trope and whose birthday sparked the inspiration for this story (even if it is now two months later…). Updates weekly until complete.
> 
> Beta love to LightofEvolution and additional thanks to mcal for pre-reading.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

“You have three seconds before I slam this door in your face, Malfoy.”

Draco was already starting to regret this decision. Every functioning cell in his brain was screaming at him to walk away, but the plan had already been constructed. The only element missing was her. 

He would fake a smile, but Draco knew it wouldn’t fool anyone. Although, if she did agree, he’d have to get much better at concealing his true emotions towards her. 

“I have a proposal for you.”

Granger stared at him suspiciously, and he could almost believe that no time at all had passed since their days of perpetual antagonism at Hogwarts. Her hair was just as bushy, her glare was just as sharp, and her stubbornness was just as evident. As anticipated, she wasn’t going to make this easy.

Draco slowly exhaled, not backing out now. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve seen today’s _Prophet_?”

He extended a copy of the paper even though they both knew it was unnecessary. For the past several months, an unidentified group had been attacking Muggle communities throughout the English countryside. Yesterday’s freak windstorm in Wolverhampton was just the latest in a long series of alarming events.

Granger ignored the newspaper. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, her unrelenting gaze continuing to point directly at Draco. “I am aware. Are you here to admit your involvement?”

“Absolutely not,” he hissed. Animosity boiled inside him at the mere accusation. It was snap judgements like this that he had had more than enough of. “My family and I are no longer involved in those practices or beliefs.”

A loud scoff filled the space between them. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

It took considerable energy for Draco to prevent the sneer on his lips from deepening. “Funny you should mention that,” he managed instead. Draco stuck one hand in his pocket, his thumb running over the smooth exterior of the box. “That brings me back to my proposal.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You want to make these attacks stop?”

“Obviously.” She narrowed her gaze, unsure where he was going with this.

Draco nodded. “Good. Then I believe I have a plan.”

He pulled out the small box for Granger to see, her gaze turning incredulous as she examined it.

“What is that?” she asked, though he could already tell she was starting to catch on.

With a flip of his thumb, the top of the box popped open, revealing the generations-old Malfoy family diamond ring.

“I told you,” Draco said. “I have a proposal for you.”

She gaped slightly at the sight of the invaluable heirloom but quickly regained her composure. “And what precisely are you _proposing?_”

Her curiosity safely sparked, Draco closed the box and returned it to his pocket. “Whoever is behind these attacks are almost certainly former Death Eaters,” Draco cooly explained. “It’s been years since the end of the war, and my family is more than ready to distance ourselves from all that once and for all. So what better way to prove that than by revealing to the public that you and I are betrothed?”

Granger kept her arms firmly folded across her chest as she began to work through his proposition. “I fail to see how I need to be implicated in this.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Draco returned, a satisfied grin finding its way across his lips. “As you are well aware, there are plenty of pureblood supremacist holdouts. Imagine the potential impact it could have on Wizarding society if they see someone like you with someone like me.”

“Someone like _me_?” Granger scoffed again. “You expect me to believe you and your family have changed, yet apparently you still have an aversion to the word Muggle-born?” She huffed. “Consider me uninterested. Good day, Malfoy.”

The door began to swing closed, but Draco stuck his hand out to stop it.

“My family will pay you,” he bargained, but Granger remained unimpressed.

“I don’t want your money.” 

She continued to press the door closed, and Draco began to panic, his chance nearly gone.

“Then I’ll beg!”

The pressure against the door began to lessen, and he could tell she was starting to reconsider.

“Think about it, Granger,” Draco said, detesting the pleading tone in his voice. “This could work. All we have to do is put on a few smiles and fake it for a month or two before we create a reason to go our separate ways and pretend it never happened.”

For several moments, she still didn’t respond, until, to Draco’s relief, she reopened the door.

“Fine,” she said, although she didn’t sound even mildly enthused. “But you need to ask me properly.”

“Alright,” Draco conceded. He could agree to that term. “Granger, will you—”

“On one knee.”

She peered at him with a devious grin as Draco begrudgingly lowered himself towards the ground. He retrieved the ring from within his pocket and once more presented it to her.

“Granger,” he repeated, feeling another sneer coming on, “will you accept my proposal?”

Granger took the ring out of his hand.

“Yes,” she said. She slid the ring onto her finger, officially becoming the first non-pureblood to ever don the item. “But you and I will need to lay some ground rules.”

~*~*~

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Ron said, casting a sticking charm on the bottom of another box. “This whole thing is barking!”

After staying up with Malfoy until near one in the morning the night prior so that they could outline the expectations and limits for their new agreement, Hermione had wasted no time that Saturday morning before telling her two best friends. She had pounded on both of their doors, explained the situation to them, assured them that she hadn’t been put under an _Imperius_ curse, and had dragged them back to her place to help.

That said, _none_ of them were pleased with the current situation.

“Honestly, Hermione,” Harry agreed. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“I’ve already told you,” she said for what had to be the tenth time, “if a month or two of inconvenience can improve pureblood and Muggle-born relations and convince even a few witches and wizards to change their outdated mindset, then yes.”

The stack of books she had been carrying dropped inside the cardboard box with a _thump_, Hermione too on edge to care about her lack of more thoughtful placement.

“But moving into his place seems unnecessary,” Harry continued to argue.

Hermione groaned as she selected three more books from one of her bookshelves that she would be taking with her to Malfoy’s. “I agree, but he insisted that it would make our so-called engagement more believable. He refused to let it go, so it was my trade-off for being able to tell you two. I would not enter into this situation without you both knowing the truth.”

This was just one of the many aspects of their agreement they had spent several hours debating. They would move in together, but they would have separate bedrooms. They would call each other by their given names, but only in public. They would hold hands and _maybe_ kiss when circumstances required, but absolutely no tongue was _ever_ permitted.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. “I need to figure out what I’m going to say first, if anything at all. They’re still overly protective since the war, and I don’t want to cause them more concern than necessary.” She let out a deep sigh. “Besides, it’s not like Malfoy and I are _actually_ getting married, so do they really need to know?”

They packed the rest of the belongings Hermione intended to bring with her, leaving behind not much more than her furniture, kitchen supplies, and off-season clothing. Harry folded down the flaps of the last box and sealed it shut.

“That everything?” he asked, looking around Hermione’s flat.

A sinking feeling settled in Hermione’s gut as she did a final look-over. “It’s not as if I’m leaving here permanently,” she said, more to appease her own concerns than anyone else’s. “We have a two-month agreement for now, at which point we will reassess if a third month would be mutually beneficial for both of our end goals.”

“Plus it’s a good safe haven in case you ever need a break away from the bloke,” Ron added. “Godric knows you’ll need it.” 

Hermione shrunk the boxes to the size of dice and gathered them in her pocket. She looked around her flat, taking in the emptiness.

She was doing this for a good cause. She just had to keep reminding herself that.

“Do me a favour, Harry?” Hermione asked before stepping into the Floo. “Make sure that finding these Death Eaters is your and the rest of the Aurors’ top priority. I’d prefer not to spend one more day living with Malfoy than necessary.” 

“Trust me,” Harry resigned. “We’ll all sleep better when this is resolved.”

Her uneasiness and apprehension only slightly appeased, Hermione grabbed a handful of green powder and called for her new home.

Two months with Malfoy. She could survive that, right? After all, she had spent six years with him in the same castle. How much worse could it be?

~*~*~

Draco removed a stack of _her_ books from _his_ shelf.

“How many times do I need to tell you? _My_ books go on the top three shelves and _your_ books go on the bottom three.”

Granger stomped into the sitting room from what used to be the guest bedroom but would now be hers for the next two months.

“And what’s so wrong with my books being there?” Granger commanded, blowing her bushy hair out of her face. “You weren’t using the space, so I see no harm with me putting my books there.”

Draco’s nose twitched at her remark. “It’s the principle,” he defended. “My flat, my rules, my shelf!”

“Pardon, but I believe this is now _our_ flat,” she sneered, and Draco had to suck in all his anger to prevent an even worse blow out exploding between them. 

“Our agreement clearly states that we will respect each other’s space and belongings, and that includes _my_ bookshelves!” he seethed, hands clenched tight on either side. “Or do I once again need to refer back to our contract?”

The contract containing their agreed-upon terms was still laid out on the dining room table, already having been referenced three separate times since Granger had officially started moving in not two hours prior. If this was how they were handling one another so shortly in, he was dreading what the next two months had in store. There would undoubtedly be plenty of exasperating evenings and an uncountable number of pulsing headaches.

If he had it his way, Granger wouldn’t be living here. But no. When concocting this plan to help their family, his mother had had two non-negotiable conditions. One, she be given the family ring, and two, they move in together. Both had initially surprised Draco, considering both actions to be unnecessary for this facade of a relationship, but Narcissa asserted that if they were going to commit to this charade, then every aspect of it had to be believable.

That was easy for her to say. _She_ didn’t have to live with the witch!

Draco looked down at his watch. Great. It was nearly a quarter till three.

He rubbed his temples, already feeling the first of many inevitable headaches.

“We’ll have to continue this argument later,” Draco resigned, mentally cursing this entire situation. “We have barely over twenty minutes until the meeting, and unless you want to doom this from the beginning, I suggest you put on something different than jeans and a t-shirt.”

Mercifully, Granger didn’t fight him on that. That said, she still huffed at him and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Dear Merlin, this better be worth it.

~*~*~

“I trust you haven’t forgotten the story,” Granger harshly whispered as they proceeded down the corridor.

“And I trust _you_ will be able to put on a convincing enough act?” Draco snapped in response.

Both equally displeased with the other, they walked the rest of the way to the office without another word until they reached the desired door.

Draco had to force the grimace off his face, which, remarkably, was harder than he would have anticipated. Somehow, this little stunt was even more aggravating than he had mentally allotted. He glanced once more at Granger, the witch who irritated him like no other, yet was the one he was about to formally share with the Wizarding world as his fiancée.

How romantic.

At least she had managed to put on something decent for the occasion. He was honestly surprised to learn that she owned a dress, so accustomed from their school years to seeing her in either robes or casual Muggle clothes. In her current attire, he could actually see her figure for once. Who would have guessed that under all those loose shirts, Granger had such a slender waist? She had even bothered to put on some makeup and pin her hair back in a clip so it wasn’t nearly as wild as usual. All things considered, he’d even venture to say that Granger looked presentable.

Good. Then he wouldn't be embarrassed when their photo was on the front page of the _Daily Prophet _tomorrow.

Draco knocked on the office door, and they both fell into character. When his hand returned to his side, Granger grabbed it, intertwining their fingers so he could feel the cool gold of the diamond ring on her left hand.

They didn’t have to wait long before the door swung open, revealing the blonde-haired, middle-aged witch, her Quick-Quotes Quill already floating beside her as she adjusted the brim of her jewelled spectacles. 

“I hope, for your sake, Mr Malfoy, this is just as juicy of a story as you promised me, or—”

Rita Skeeter faltered as she recognized the witch beside Draco, and for a brief moment, he got the sense that the older witch was borderline scared to see Granger. That hesitation quickly faded, however, as she fully assessed the scene before her, entranced by their interlocked fingers.

“My, my,” she said with an acidicly pleased grin, her quill already scribbling furiously across a piece of parchment. “What a lovely surprise, Miss Granger. Please, do come in and take a seat.”

Parchments whizzed through the air as they flew off Rita Skeeter’s desk and into various filing cabinets around the perimeter of the room. Her office walls were lined with framed _Daily Prophet _articles, all written by her, including one from earlier that year, speculating the Malfoys’ continued dabbling in the Dark Arts. Draco resisted a threatening sneer, remembering the harsh impact the supposed "exposé" had had on him and his family. Skeeter certainly had a knack for writing sensationalised stories, which was precisely why, despite his resentment, he and Granger had selected her to write the article announcing their engagement.

Determined to maintain their act, Draco pulled out a chair for Granger and waited for her to take her seat before he settled in the other chair. He near broke, however, when he felt the unexpected touch of Granger’s hand on his knee. His impulse was to knock it away, but he forcefully reminded himself that that wasn’t a wise choice. Instead, he was compelled to watch as her slim fingers gently caressed him over the fabric of his trousers, the rays of sunshine from an adjacent window causing the Malfoy family ring to glitter.

Rita Skeeter had noticed the movement as well.

“It appears that before me sit two love birds,” she cooed, the Quick-Notes Quill continuing its duty of transcribing her observations. “In a most shocking turn of events, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin’s notorious bad boy, and Hermione Granger, everyone’s beloved war heroine, appear to be an item. The lovestruck witch can hardly keep her hands to herself as an impressive and undoubtedly very expensive ring adorns her left hand.” 

Rita Skeeter perched her elbows on the edge of her desk and leaned in with delighted intrigue. “Now, I must ask, how did our star-crossed lovers fall for one another? And why are we just now becoming privy to what undoubtedly is a powerful tale of forgiveness and redemption?”

“It all started about a year and a half ago,” Draco began, hardly recognising his own voice as he recounted the fabricated tale. He placed a hand on top of the one Granger still had on his knee and smiled at her in a way that could only be described as sickly sweet. “We ran into each other at Flourish and Blotts, which led to a three-hour-long conversation at a nearby cafe about our favourite author.”

“How absolutely charming,” she said. “And as our readers will surely want to know, who is your favourite author?”

“Dalton Doyle.”

“Leo Tolstoy.”

Draco’s pulse leapt as he exchanged a furtive glance with Granger, feeling Rita Skeeter’s quirked eyebrow at their contrasting answers.

“Tolstoy is, of course, my favourite Muggle author, and Dalton Doyle my favourite Wizarding author,” Granger quickly rationalised. The witch’s fingers pressed into his skin, as if directing Draco not to interrupt. “But we’re both such admirers of Doyle’s works. Although, after getting Draco to read _War and Peace_, I must say I’ve influenced his taste quite a bit, even if _Anna Karenina _will always be my preferred choice.”

Draco’s head spun, trying to keep track of the names of books Granger was saying in case he needed to repeat them, but then something else caught his attention.

She had used his given name.

Granted, that was a part of their act, but it was still odd to hear it coming from Granger. Hardly anyone referred to him as ‘Draco’ besides his parents and other older adults in his life. At Hogwarts, Pansy was essentially the only one of their peers who didn’t call him ‘Malfoy,’ but that was because of their history with one another. Which was precisely why Granger now had to call him that as well.

“And when can we expect the engagement party?” 

Rita Skeeter’s next question pulled Draco back into the interview.

“Oh, Draco and I aren’t—”

“In two weeks.”

Granger’s eyes lit up in alarm, but thankfully, the other witch was too busy making sure her quill had gotten that to notice.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Rita Skeeter’s pleased voice echoed throughout her office. “I expect the _Daily Prophet_ will be invited to report on that event?”

Draco grinned. “You can expect our owl.”

~*~*~

Diagon Alley was bustling with hurried witches and wizards as he and Granger exited the _Daily Prophet_ offices. Several people did double-takes as the unexpected couple walked down the pavement, their fingers intertwined in a tight, aching grip while they made their way back to Draco’s flat. 

“I wasn’t aware that we are having an engagement party,” Granger hissed. It was almost impressive the way she could make her disdain apparent even as a faux smile remained painted across her lips.

Draco didn’t bother to return the fake affection. “No one in pureblood society would buy this for a moment if we didn’t mark it with a formal function.” He could sense Granger itching to protest, but he cut her off before she had the chance. “You don’t need to concern yourself over any of the details. My mother said she would plan the whole thing. We just need to show up.”

_Right. Another thing his mother had insisted upon._

But Granger still didn’t seem satisfied. “And what about _my_ parents?” she snarled, dropping her smile. “Did you factor _them_ into this?”

Draco shrugged in ambivalence. “I suppose they should come.”

“You _suppose?_” she spat. Anger ignited in her pointed glare.

Draco revelled in the evidence of her dismay. “Watch your sneer, sweetheart,” Draco taunted, enjoying the way her nose wrinkled at his use of the endearment. “We don’t want to blow our cover before the news is plastered across the _Daily Prophet_ in big, black letters.”

Granger pierced her nails into the back of Draco’s hand, and he had to draw in a short breath to prevent the sharp pain from showing on his features. 

“Then I suggest you change the topic before I become more irritated, _darling._”

Draco was tempted to snap something back at her, but he caught sight of yet another witch eyeing them curiously. They seriously had to learn to control their bickering in public.

He racked his mind for _anything _he could possibly discuss with Granger and eventually settled on something of actual interest.

“Back there with Skeeter,” he began, “she didn’t look too pleased to see you at first. I assume there’s a story behind that?”

Granger quickly glanced at him before returning her gaze forward. She paused, as if considering her response, before she finally replied, “During fourth year, I discovered something about her, and I don’t think she’s quite forgotten my warning.”

“Really now?” Draco said, mildly intrigued by her response. “And just how far did Goody Granger’s blackmail scheme go?”

If she wasn’t trying to maintain their act, Draco was certain she would have frowned at the use of such a mocking name, but to his surprise, she answered his question. “I trapped her in a jar where she was stuck in her beetle Animagus form and only released her with the understanding that she wouldn’t write anything for another year. And she absolutely deserved it after all the terrible lies she spread about Harry during the Triwizard Tournament!”

Draco blinked, still processing the first part of her confession. “Skeeter’s an Animagus?”

“An unregistered one, yes.”

_Huh. _And Granger had successfully used that to prevent the witch from writing any more articles about her and her pesky friends? He couldn’t lie. It was rather… ruthless. Something he wished _he_ could have done to the writer. He could almost respect Granger for it.

_Almost_.

~*~*~

When they arrived back in Draco’s flat, Granger wasted no time once again finding a way to irritate him. She roamed around the sitting room, pulling out nearly every drawer, evidently in search for something.

“Do we need to have _another _conversation about you touching my things?” Draco groaned.

But as he was sure he’d soon learn to expect, Granger merely ignored his complaint, too focused on whatever it was she was looking for.

_“Accio_ notecards!” she said with a raised wand.

The door to Draco’s bedroom flew open, and a stack of notecards whizzed from inside the space and into Granger’s hands.

“And just what exactly are those for?”

Granger split the pile in half. “We can’t risk another near mess up like what happened when Rita Skeeter asked us about our favourite authors. If we expect this to work, we need to know more about each other.” She handed half of the cards to Draco. “Write down your favourite things and memories on these cards. Tomorrow evening, we’ll come back together and exchange our answers. We’ll have the rest of the week to study and will quiz each other over the weekend.”

Draco stared at the cards in his hands, not sure where to begin with his objection. Even if she _did_ have a point, he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of wasting his time making the cards for her. Worse yet, he would then have to actually study facts about _Granger_.

But before Draco could ask a single question, Granger had already turned on her heels and marched away, shutting her bedroom door without another word.

“If this is what living with Hermione Granger is like, then I feel for Weasley and Potter for having to endure this for so many years!” Draco cried after her, but he got no response. Knowing her, she had undoubtedly gotten straight to work on filling out her notecards.

Draco threw the cards on the coffee table and propped his feet up upon the surface as he knocked his head back with a groan. These next two months were going to be a proper nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind feedback on the first chapter! I hope you like this next chapter and would love to hear your thoughts when you're done!
> 
> Love as always to my dream team of LightofEvolution and mcal who keep me sane on a daily basis.

Hermione woke that Sunday morning to a loud roar echoing from the kitchen. She swung open her bedroom door, prepared to chastise Malfoy for making such a ruckus that early of an hour, only to find him staring irately at a crimson red envelope.

_“HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE MALFOY FAMILY NAME WITH THAT DIRTY MUDBLOOD? YOUR ANCESTORS WOULD BE SO VERY DISAPPOINTED. MAY YOUR MARRIAGE BE CURSED AND YOUR CHILDREN BE SQUIBS!”_

Malfoy’s lips were stuck in a deep sneer even after the parchment had torn itself up and fallen in pieces at his feet. He remained silent as he scooped up the remnants and discarded them into the rubbish bin.

“And who do we have to thank for such a delightful letter?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy shot her a quick side-eyed glare before brushing his palms against one another so the last traces of parchment left his hands. “The Parkinsons,” he said with a grimace. “I suppose they aren’t pleased to learn that the wizard who dumped their daughter is now engaged to, well, _you._”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest as she stepped towards him. “What happened to you saying that our engagement would sway the opinions of pureblood holdouts?”

Malfoy scoffed. “You know better than to expect that to happen overnight. I’m sure the Parkinsons aren’t the only ones unenthused by our little announcement. Don’t act is if you truly believe your friends are taking too kindly to the news either.”

Hermione hated that Malfoy was right. She could only imagine the shock her uninformed friends had experienced when they had opened that morning’s _Prophet_. It was precisely the reason why she had fought so hard to be able to tell Harry and Ron the truth; otherwise, they would have been pounding on her flat door the instant they read the news.

“As much as neither of us want it, this further proves that my mother is correct in insisting that we have that blasted engagement party,” Malfoy said with a resigned sigh, taking a seat at one of the chairs around the kitchen table. He picked up their copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and tossed it Hermione’s way. “People will need to see us together to be convinced, so trust me when I say that this article is just the beginning. You and I have a long way to go before we’re finally free from one another.”

And just the beginning it was.

From the moment Hermione stepped foot at the Ministry Monday morning, she could feel every pair of eyes directed at her. Curious eyes. Surprised eyes. Enraged eyes. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about her and Malfoy even if no one said it to her face.

At lunch, Dean and Seamus had expressed their half-hearted congratulations and then resorted to uncharacteristic silence the rest of the meal. During the afternoon, Terry Boot had delivered a report from the Department of International Cooperation and lingered longer than necessary as he failed to hide his obvious staring at the ring on her left hand. Towards the end of the day, Marcus Flint had passed her in the corridors and glared at her with the utmost disgust, a snarl on his lips that reminded her of the expression on his face during that skirmish on the Quidditch pitch her second year.

A spark of resentment ignited in Hermione’s chest remembering that afternoon from over a decade ago. She was now supposedly engaged to the wizard who had started that confrontation, her first taste of real prejudice in the wizarding world. It was only fair that friends, acquaintances, and adversaries alike were hesitant to accept the alleged couple. She and Malfoy had a lot of work to do if they really expected anyone to believe their charade.

After a draining day at work, Hermione wanted nothing more than to go home to _her _flat and lay across _her_ sofa. But instead she was heading to a still foreign flat where she was left to face_ him_.

And as much as she would have preferred not to interact with him, they had something they needed to accomplish that evening.

~*~*~

It was already half-past seven when Malfoy finally came home.

“Where have you been?” she demanded the moment the green flames died around his feet.

Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace, brushing the lingering Floo Powder off of his robes. “I work, too, you know.”

Hermione concealed her surprise. She honestly assumed that with all that famous Malfoy wealth, he didn’t bother with a job.

Temporarily setting aside her curiosity, Hermione delayed no longer. She outstretched the four inch tall stack of notecards before Malfoy had the chance to set down his briefcase.

“Would it kill you to let me relax for even one moment?” he chastised, but Hermione didn’t waver.

“If we want this to be even semi-believable, you and I need to know a lot more about each other, so no, there’s no time to waste.” 

Malfoy paused, for the first time, actually looking at the stack in Hermione’s hand. His eyes grew wide. “You expect me to memorise all_ that_?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered indignantly. She set the cards on the table before glaring at Malfoy expectantly. “And where is _your_ stack?”

His briefcase clicked open and Malfoy pulled out what couldn’t be more than thirty notecards.

Hermione snatched them into her hands and quickly skimmed through them, her frustration growing with each passing card. “Just how do you expect me to get to know you when there are hardly any cards here?” 

Malfoy closed the briefcase and returned it to the ground. “It’s ample,” Malfoy contended. “_I_ only bothered with important things. For example, I didn’t bother sharing with you-” he flipped through Hermione’s deck and scoffed. “Do you really believe I need to know the name of your first stuffed animal?”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush red. “Unlike _you, _I actually put effort into these!”

But Malfoy’s taunting didn’t let up. “You couldn’t think of a better name than Mr Cuddles?”

Hermione yanked the card out of Malfoy’s grasp and ripped it in half as the chuckles of his amusement rang in her ears.

“In my defence, I was four,” she said with a huff. 

Malfoy’s laughter continued as he flipped through her cards. “And what other embarrassing things am I going to learn in here?”

Frustration raged higher inside Hermione, her right eye starting to twitch. This is what she got for being foolish enough to believe he would take this seriously!

Having already had enough of Malfoy’s taunts for the evening, Hermione dropped her dirty dinner plate in the sink and charmed the sponge to clean it before once more picking up his stack of cards and storming into her room. She was only in there for a few moments, however, before she barged back into the sitting room.

“These don’t even tell me what you do for a living!”

Malfoy, now lounged across the sofa, merely smirked at her. “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?”

She released an aggravated groan before slamming her bedroom door shut.

~*~*~

The rest of the week didn’t fare much better.

Tuesday presented much of the same, as did Wednesday. People continued to whisper at work, but Hermione had long ago learned to ignore the gossip of others. What concerned her more was how she was going to tell her parents about all this.

Even after learning about the engagement party, Hermione made excuses to herself as to why she couldn’t tell them then. Sunday she had to write her notecards. Monday she had to give the notecards to Draco. Tuesday she had to start studying his notecards. But when Wednesday came, she had already read his measly twenty-six cards at least two dozen times and had them all memorised word for word.

She couldn’t delay it any longer.

So after getting off work that Wednesday, instead of Flooing directly back to Draco’s place, she took the Muggle exit from the Ministry and found the closest working telephone booth.

Thus began the most painful phone call she’d ever had with her parents.

As expected, they had plenty to say on the matter. Hadn’t she already sacrificed enough? Couldn’t he ask someone else? Did she really believe it would have that great of an effect on pureblood holdouts?

By the end of the conversation, Hermione’s mother had her promise to bring Draco to their place some time before the engagement party so she and her father could properly meet him. Hermione had tried to protest, but Jean had insisted. She now understood Draco’s plight about giving into his mother’s demand that they have an engagement party. Sometimes it was just easier to say ‘yes’ to your mother.

How exactly she was going to convince Draco to visit her parents in Muggle England, however, was an issue for a later time. Right now, she was too focused on making sure he did his part in helping maintain their facade for the wizarding world.

Which brought her to Thursday.

“I need more notecards from you.”

Draco ignored her as he stepped out of the Floo, once again staying at his office until long after Hermione had finished dinner, and attempted to walk straight into his bedroom. 

Hermione was quicker, though, and was able to cast an intricate locking spell on his door before he could slip away.

“What’s the matter, Granger?” he said, dropping his briefcase outside his closed bedroom. “Upset they didn’t regale you with whimsical tales of my childhood?”

“Well, yes!” Hermione fumed. “You obviously took no care when writing these, while I spent hours writing mine. And I bet you didn’t even bother to properly read them as soon as you decided they weren’t worth your time. But if you sincerely want this to work, Draco, then we-”

They both startled before she could complete the thought.

_Draco_. She had just called him Draco. And not in public.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” she apologised before he could berate her for breaking one of the core conditions of their agreement. She scrambled to make sense of her mistake. “I remember mentally practising calling you ‘Draco’ when reviewing your notecards, and at some point, I must have unconsciously switched over. But believe me, it _won’t_ happen again.”

Draco merely stared at her before he snapped to life. “It’s fine,” he grumbled, surprisingly not upset. Instead, he just sounded resigned. “Call me whatever you want. I suppose it doesn’t actually make a difference.”

He turned his back to her and began to attempt to undo Hermione’s locking charm, but Hermione wasn’t done with their conversation just yet.

“Then what about me?” 

Draco paused his movements and shifted back around to face her. “What about you?”

“I’ve noticed you still haven’t called me Hermione once since asking me to do this. Not even in Rita Skeeter’s office.” The observation hurt Hermione more than she expected. “Is that because you don’t want to utter my Muggle name or-”

“Hermione,” Draco said, his voice loud and clear so there was no missing the use of her given name, “derived from the name of the Greek god Hermes. Also used in Greek mythology as the name of the daughter of King Menelaus of Sparta and Helen of Troy. Then used by Shakespeare as the name of the wife of Leontes in his play _The Winter’s Tale._” Draco dug into his robes pocket and threw a stack of Hermione’s notecards on the ground. “Yeah, I’ve been studying. Happy, _Hermione?_”

Hermione watched him blankly as he spelled the doorknob until he was able to open it. Long after he had slammed it shut, she continued to look at the wooden grains, dumbfounded that Draco had actually taken the time to pay that close of attention to her cards.

~*~*~

By the time Friday rolled around, Hermione was grateful for it to be the weekend. Five days of enduring endless whisperings was more than enough. Now she could enjoy her time off away from the judgment of others. 

Or rather, that’s what she would have preferred.

That desire was promptly spoiled when Draco arrived home from work -- of which she _still_ didn’t know what he did -- and approached her in the kitchen where she was once again making her own meal.

“These came in the post today.” He dropped an envelope on the counter. “Lucky us. It appears as if we have our first official outing as an engaged couple.”

Hermione paused her cutting of vegetables. She opened the flap of the envelope to reveal two tickets to tomorrow night’s Falmouth Falcons versus Tutshill Tornados game. Tucked next to the tickets was a thank you note from Rita Skeeter.

Excuses were already forming in Hermione’s head, but she knew it was pointless. If anyone was going to believe they were seriously engaged, they needed to be spotted spending time together. She just would have preferred it not be at a Quidditch match.

Draco began to walk back to his room, but Hermione spoke before he could disappear for the rest of the night.

“Your favourite team is the Falcons,” she recited. It was one of the few pieces of information she had actually learned about him from the notecards.

Draco stalled. He twisted back around and simply looked at Hermione. “And I noticed that in your massive stack of cards, you didn’t mention a favourite team.” 

Hermione shrugged. “That’s because I don’t entirely care for Quidditch.”

“Claims the witch that has dated _how_ many Quidditch players?’

“Depends,” she quipped right back. “Are we counting you?”

He didn’t bother responding to that.

~*~*~

As anticipated, it had been a long, vexing week living under the same roof as the insufferable Hermione Granger.

After she had handed him the stack of blank notecards, Draco had spent nearly all of Sunday night contemplating what to include. How much detail would he go into? How deep and honest would he get? He still wasn’t enthused with Granger’s little game and wasn’t sure how much he wanted to reveal.

Instead of addressing it then, Draco delayed his decision as long as possible. It wasn’t until after work hours on Monday that he actually began writing something down, at which point, he only had minimal time before Granger would chide him for making her wait. So Draco played it safe and stuck with the basics. Nothing more than necessary. A few simple, foundational facts for them to pass public questioning.

But then he received her stack of cards.

He may have initially mocked her, but as soon as she closed her bedroom door on him for the second time, Draco had spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, reading through every word on her notecards.

True, he had originally been looking for additional fodder for future taunts, but after just a few cards, he had forgotten all about that mission. To his utmost surprise, there were some semi-interesting pieces of information about her in there. Some were completely unnecessary (he could have guessed for himself that the Sorting Hat nearly put her in Ravenclaw), while others were unexpected (she successfully brewed a Polyjuice Potion in second year, a potion he hadn’t even attempted until fourth). But for as much as he resented the fact that he was stuck reading the self-curated history of Hermione Granger, he couldn’t deny that he actually was curious to uncover it all.

From that night forward, Draco stayed at work later than usual, studying her notecards in the solitude of his office. He may have submitted to her plan, but he wasn’t keen on giving her the satisfaction of knowing just how much effort he was putting into memorising what he estimated to be at least five hundred minuscule factoids all about her. 

Each night he’d come home after several rounds of studying, only to have the latest tidbits of information flash across his mind the moment he stepped into the flat and saw her standing there.

Her favourite colour was plum.

She preferred fall because that was when the school year began.

Her greatest fear was losing her parents.

For so long, it had been easy to maintain his resentments towards her when he didn’t know much about who she sincerely was. But after all he had learned the past week, that was no longer true. Yet he hadn’t let his attitude around her shift.

She was Granger. They didn’t like each other. It was as simple as that.

All that began to change, however, in those moments leading up to their departure for the Quidditch match.

Although, not before one last argument.

“I need something to borrow to wear to the game.”

Draco didn’t even bother lifting his head from the book he had been reading while waiting for her to finish getting ready. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he drawled, “but you have plenty of your own clothes to wear.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Granger tore the book out of his hands and dropped it onto the coffee table. “I need something _from the Falcons _to wear.”

“Shame,” he returned with an unsympathetic _tsk_. “If you wanted a shirt, then you should have gone to the store and bought one yourself.”

He leaned over to reclaim his book, but Granger grabbed it first.

“Give me back my-”

“Not yet!” she snapped, evidently not going to let the topic go. “I’m not asking for something major. Unless there’s something _wrong_ with me borrowing one of your shirts?” She raised an eyebrow. “Afraid I might make it _dirty_?”

Her harsh, challenging glare pierced into Draco, but that only caused his own irritation and ire to boil. His hands sank into the cushions and he pushed himself off the sofa, a deep scowl setting in. “I’m growing tired of repeating myself,” he growled, withholding his anger as best he could. “I no longer see you that way, so I would _appreciate_ if you would stop assuming the worst of me!”

“Then why are you still so abrasive, huh?” Granger’s chest began to huff as her own frustration began to match Draco’s. “You want to prove to the rest of the Wizarding world that your opinions towards Muggle-borns have changed? Then start by proving it _to me_!”

“And you think _now_ is the time to bring this up?” Draco demanded. “Minutes before we need to leave?”

“I wasn’t planning on it until you refused to even let me borrow a shirt!”

“You want a shirt so bloody bad?” Draco fumed. “Then, fine! Take my jersey if it means that sodding much to you!” Draco grabbed the hem of the black and grey jersey he had selected for the evening and yanked it over his head before throwing it towards Granger. “_Happy_?”

Draco made to storm past her and get some distance between them, but the witch darted after him.

“No, I’m not happy!” she cried, knocking her hands against his back through the thin layer of his undershirt.

Draco whipped around and was prepared to bark at her for touching him, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I don’t know what else you want from me!” Granger bellowed, her voice echoing throughout the sitting room. “You’re the one who approached me with this ridiculous plan, and let’s be honest, you’re the one getting something directly out of it, _not_ me. Yet every time I suggest something that would help us add validity to our so-called relationship, all I’m met with from you is resistance!”

Her final words rang throughout the space. They stared at one another for several passing moments, the room silent except for the asynchronous releases of their shallow breathing.

Eventually, Draco was the one to speak.

“I did memorise all those notecards.”

Granger’s agitation seemed to lessen, although only mildly.

“Yes, you did,” she conceded after a slow intake of air. A faint scraping noise echoed in the room as she drew back one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. “Which is all well and good, but I’m no closer to actually knowing anything of value about you.” She sighed. “And if that’s all you’re going to give me, fine. I’ll make it work. But we can’t keep fighting like this if we’re going to survive these next two months.”

Draco released his own sigh. No, he supposed they wouldn’t.

Silence perpetuated between them as Draco retrieved his jersey off of the ground. He tapped his wand against the fabric so a second jersey appeared in his hands.

“Here,” he said, dropping the jersey on the kitchen table. “We can be one of those disgusting couples that have matching shirts if that’s what you really want.”

She looked at the jersey, up at Draco, and then back down at the jersey before snatching it off the table and proceeding into her bedroom to change.

When the door closed behind her, Draco ran his palms down his face. If this meant no more arguing with Granger on a daily basis, then he’d bloody take it. 

He yanked his original jersey back on over his head, and by the time his head peeked out of the top, Granger was back in the sitting room, ready to go. But then the oddest thought struck him…

“You look good.”

Granger blinked at him, apparently in disbelief at the sentiment. Truth be told, Draco was in a bit of disbelief himself. But there was something about seeing her in a Quidditch jersey, sporting his favourite team’s colours that was… alluring.

“I said we need to stop fighting. Not that you need to start lying,” she quipped.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Granger." Draco waved a dismissive hand. “It was just a comment.”

“_Hermione_.”

Right. He was supposed to be calling her ‘Hermione’ now.

It was a direct violation of their agreement, but he supposed there was no harm in this amendment. Plus it would lessen the chances that he might slip and call her ‘Granger’ in public. If this is what it took to satisfy her, then he’d do it. Besides, it wasn’t as if calling her by her first name actually changed anything between them.

“Fine. Don’t make a big deal out of it, _Hermione_,” Draco accepted. He glanced at the time. “Now, if that’s all settled, I suggest we leave, or we’ll miss kick-off. Unless there’s something else you want to yell at me about first?”

She shook her head.

“Good.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand. “Then let’s get this over with.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading! And another special thank you to those of you who left kind comments. They really brighten my week!
> 
> Infinite love to LightofEvolution and mcal.

The swirling dizziness of Apparition flared through Draco until his and Hermione’s feet landed on the solid ground outside of the Falmouth Falcons Stadium. Upon their safe arrival, Draco instinctively made to undo their grip, but Hermione latched on tighter.

“We’re holding hands,” she whispered to him, and Draco didn’t fight her on it -- partially in light of the argument they had just had, but mostly because he was much too immersed in the sights.

Swarms of witches and wizards surrounded them, most too caught up in the excited commotion of the impending match to have noticed the shocking couple. A rotund, balding man was selling pennants and buttons for both teams. A witch with vibrant purple hair and a suspicious-looking wizard were exchanging bets. A pair of young boys were zooming around on toy brooms sticks while an exhausted witch chased after them.

Draco soaked in every aspect of the atmosphere. He had always relished the energy that radiated from the crowd of a good Quidditch match, and tonight was no exception. It reminded him of his boyhood, of the thrill of getting lost in the excitement of the game, of the anticipation that his team could win at any moment. Quidditch had always been his source of bliss, and not even the company of Hermione could spoil this high.

Although, he hadn’t accounted for _other_ people’s company.

They were just about to enter the stadium when Draco heard the calling of his name from behind them. He glanced over his shoulder and pretended not to have noticed the witch and wizard heading directly their way.

_Fuck._

Draco undid their intertwined fingers and slinked his now free hand around Hermione’s waist. Startled by the change, Hermione turned and blinked at him. He furtively motioned his head behind them, and Hermione quickly caught on.

“Astoria Greengrass and Adrian Pucey,” Draco reminded her of their names before they inevitably caught up. “Played Quidditch with Pucey through fifth year. Greengrasses are old family friends. We used to holiday together in Nice every July and-”

“Draco!”

He couldn’t pretend to have not heard that one. Draco turned himself and Hermione around as Astoria and Pucey closed the gap between them. 

“Astoria,” Draco greeted the witch with a smile. “I knew I had heard someone.”

They both leaned in and exchanged a polite kiss on the cheek.

“Pucey,” Draco continued. “Good to see you as well.” They shook each other’s hands. “I trust you both remember my fiancée, Hermione.”

The words felt odd on his tongue, but Draco soon became too distracted by the resulting reactions to linger on the thought long. Astoria kindly welcomed Hermione, but Pucey’s hesitation was evident. Astoria had to subtly nudge the wizard before he stuck out his hand for Hermione to shake.

“Yes, your _fiancée_,” Astoria said with enraptured intrigue. “The surprise announcement that has everyone talking.”

Draco’s attention, however, was no longer entirely on the witch. Beside Astoria, Pucey was surreptitiously wiping his right hand, the hand he had just shaken with Hermione, against his robes.

Inexplicable annoyance began to swell inside Draco. Harsh words intended to call Pucey out on the rude action began to formulate in his mind, but they were promptly lost when Astoria’s voice once more filled his ears.

“Don’t keep us waiting! Tell us how it happened!”

“I’m sure you read the article in the _Prophet_,” Draco curtly dismissed, no longer in the mood to fully engage in the conversation, but Astoria had never been easy to brush off.

“Of course, I’ve read the article,” she said. “You’d have to be locked away in Azkaban to have not read it by now! But it didn’t tell us _how _you asked.”

A wave of alarm coursed through Draco. _Shite_. How had he and Granger not prepared an answer to that inevitable question?

Draco attempted to avoid it. “We’re saving the story for the engagement party.”

But once again, Astoria wouldn’t accept her curiosity going unsatiated. “Don’t you make me wait another week, Draco Malfoy! Or at the _very_ least give me the highlights to hold me over until then.”

Draco struggled to think of something, still too infuriated by Pucey to focus on much else, but Hermione picked up the topic seamlessly. 

“Don’t be shy, Draco,” Hermione playfully taunted with natural ease. She smiled at Astoria. “I think he’s just embarrassed because he doesn’t want everyone to know what a romantic he is, but the way he asked was perfect.” 

Astoria was now even more interested. “_So_, how’d it happen?”

Hermione leaned into Draco and rested her hand upon his chest, smiling up at her supposed fiancé. “Well,” she began, “as you already know, we reconnected at Flourish and Blotts. Then, a few weeks ago, we were there together, looking at the latest Dalton Doyle book, when he ‘_noticed_’ something sticking out from one of the copies. So I opened it up and discovered a quiz of sorts, questions about various books and authors that I then had to go around the store finding the answer to. And when I answered the final question, ‘What is the fifth letter on page 128 of _A Comprehensive Guide to Brewing Everlasting Elixirs _by Hilda Hopkins?’, I had completed writing out ‘Will You Marry Me’ and Draco was behind me on one knee.” Hermione popped up on her toes and kissed Draco on the cheek. “And of course, I immediately said yes!”

Warmth tingled on Draco’s cheek at the spot Hermione had just _kissed_. Hadn’t they agreed to no kissing unless absolutely necessary? Although, this wasn’t technically kissing. It was merely a peck on the cheek to aid in the storytelling. He just hadn’t expected it.

“That’s precious,” Astoria squealed, and Draco had to agree. Hermione had fabricated an impressive story. Hell, if he didn’t know better, _he _would have believed it.

But now that Astoria’s question was answered, it was time for them to get out of there.

“Yes, yes,” Draco said, playing into Hermione’s constructed tale. “What can I say? I love my witch.” He pulled her in tighter so her body was flush against his. “But we must head inside before the game begins. We’ll see you next Saturday at the engagement party?”

Astoria twined her fingers with Pucey’s. “We’ll be there. Right, Adrian?”

Pucey forced a smile. “If you’re there, I’m there.”

“Great,” Draco said, even though he really didn’t care much for Pucey being in attendance. “Then we shall see you again soon.”

Draco and Hermione purposefully distanced themselves from Astoria and Pucey as they continued their path towards the stadium. When they were a safe distance away, Draco dropped his arm from around Hermione’s waist. He sucked in a breath and prepared himself for what he was going to say next.

“You did good back there.”

Clear surprise dawned on Hermione’s face at Draco’s remark. If he had to guess, she hadn’t expected to hear yet another compliment directed towards her to come from his lips. She glanced at him, as if waiting for the moment he would insert some snide comment to negate what he had just said, but it never came. 

“Thank you,” she eventually stated. She twisted her curls into a bunch and gathered them over one shoulder. “Although, if I’m being honest, I prepared that story a few days ago. We hadn’t created one together, and instead of getting in another argument, I opted to just do it myself.”

“And were you planning on ever sharing the story with me?” he asked.

Hermione slowly exhaled. “At some point.”

The conversation lulled as a young witch checked their tickets. Her eyes grew wide as she recognised the witch and wizard in front of her, her hand shaking as she returned the tickets to Draco and directed them towards their seat in the stands.

Draco thanked her all the same, pretending not to have noticed her shock. But now that they were inside the stadium, people seemed much more aware of Draco and Hermione’s presence. Stares. Gapes. Double-takes. It was as if none of them had believed the _Daily Prophet_ until they saw the couple for themselves.

Hermione must have also noticed the influx of gawking for she once more grabbed his hand.

“Astoria seems nice,” she commented, breaking the silence between them.

He peered around them to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear. “Astoria’s always been the more accepting type,” he retorted, still cautiously checking the area. His tone turned sour. “Can’t say the same about Pucey, though.”

Draco instinctively scoffed, sparking a new wave of curiosity to shine in Hermione’s eyes. 

“What was that sound for?”

He didn’t immediately answer. Draco hesitated, considering whether or not he should mention what he had witnessed. Knowing Hermione, she clearly hadn’t seen it; otherwise, she would have brought it up by now. Was it worth telling her? She had a right to know what Pucey had done -- especially if he was supposedly attending their engagement party.

“He wiped his hand on his robes after shaking your hand.”

Draco checked to gage Hermione’s reaction, bracing himself for her predictable lecture of how offensive that was, but it never came. Instead, her expression was blank.

“Oh,” was all she said.

“You’re not… angry?’ Draco asked.

“I am,” she responded, her words clipped as she spoke. “Just… not surprised.” She looked down at her feet as they began to climb the stairs up one of the stalls. “Unfortunately, that’s not the first time something like that has happened to me since the end of the war. Most people’s opinions towards Muggle-borns haven’t changed. They’ve just gotten better at hiding it.”

Recent headlines from the past few months flashed across Draco’s memory. It really ought not to come as a shock to Draco that Hermione still experienced prejudices when Muggle communities continued to be attacked by former Death Eaters. That partially explained why she was so reluctant to believe the sincerity of Draco’s claim that he no longer subscribed to that train of thought.

Not wanting to dampen the mood by broaching that subject, Draco shifted the topic slightly. “I guess I’m just surprised to see Astoria with him.” Draco chuckled. “Although, come to think of it, I always assumed my parents would pressure me into marrying her.”

“Why do you think they didn’t?”

Draco shrugged as they reached their box at the top-most level of the stalls. He paused on the landing before they would be surrounded by the other spectators and would have to change the subject of their conversation.

“Things changed for us after the war,” he confessed, Hermione’s attention locked on him as he spoke. “Matters of blood status no longer felt as important. We were just grateful that the three of us made it out alive.”

Excited shouts of the crowd bellowed from every direction, but Hermione remained quiet, processing what Draco had revealed. Draco realised then that this was the first truly personal thing he had shared with Hermione. His favourite author and Quidditch team, where and with whom his family went on holidays… those were superficial facts. But the way his family felt in the immediate aftermath of the war? That was… different.

He guided them to their seats before she could make a big deal out of it.

~*~*~

A magicked tornado swirled into form from the grass of the pitch until the black shadow of a falcon swooped in from above, breaking the tornado into a gust of wind that washed over every face in the stadium. Cries of enthusiasm erupted from all around as the massive falcon flapped its wings over the crowd. They spanned at least a hundred feet, causing a dark shadow to cast down on whatever it passed. Anticipation grew as the Falcon’s mascot continued its path over the stalls before pausing in the centre of the stadium and bursting into glittering specks like a million finely polished black diamonds shining in the setting sun.

Through the shower of sparkles, streaks of grey and blue zoomed through the sky. Edwards, Holland, Carr, Rojas, Cunningham, Dixon, Brewer. Draco couldn’t mask the vibrant grin that stretched across his lips as the Falmouth Falcons and Tutshill Tornados took to the air, the game now seconds from starting.

Beside him, Hermione kept her eyes equally trained on the players as they found their positions around the point of kick-off. She motioned to the Falcon player floating closest to the referee.

“That’s Cunningham, the captain, isn’t it?” she asked.

Draco temporarily shifted his attention away from the game. “Yes,” he responded, surprised to discover that Hermione knew the name of any of the players, let alone could identify one as the captain. “He’s one of the Beaters.”

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement. “But your favourite is Carr, the Seeker?” 

Draco snorted. “Seeing as which, we’re both wearing his jersey, I think that’s a fair assumption.”

The sharp, piercing sound of the starting whistle echoed throughout the stadium, and the players dispersed across the pitch. Lawrence from the Tornados got control of the Quaffle first as the Snitch disappeared from sight. The Quaffle was passed from player to player as Cunningham attempted to knock a Bludger one of their ways but missed by mere inches. Baur did a reverse pass back to Lawrence who threw the ball into the centre ring only for it to be blocked by Brewer.

Cheers roared from the crowd, even from Hermione.

“Way to go, Brewer!” she cried, and Draco couldn’t withhold his curiosity any longer.

“Since when do you know so much about the Falcons?” he asked.

Hermione kept her eyes on the game even as she answered Draco’s question. “While I was busy not buying a jersey this afternoon, I was at Flourish and Blotts reading up on the team.”

“But I thought you don’t like Quidditch?” Draco followed up.

Hermione remained transfixed on the game. “I believe my exact words were that I ‘don’t entirely care’ for Quidditch, but I find that being knowledgeable about the team helps me be more invested.” She turned to Draco with a smile. “You don’t survive being friends with Ron and Harry for over a decade without learning to enjoy a good Quidditch game.”

“Alright, then,” Draco said, now intrigued to test her recently acquired expertise on the team. “Name all the players." 

“Easy,” she replied. “Brewer is the Chaser. Carr obviously the Seeker. Cunningham and Holland are the Beaters, and then Rojas, Dixon, and Edwards are the Chasers.” A taunting grin stretched across her lips. “You’re going to have to ask a harder question if you want to stump me.”

Draco actually chuckled at her remark. Leave it to Hermione Granger to want to be quizzed during the middle of a Quidditch match.

The game continued with Draco interspersedly asking Hermione questions about the team. She correctly answered the basic questions (founded in 1939, currently fourth in the league, team motto is ‘Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads’), but she struggled when it came to anything prior to a few years ago. Although, she did manage to tease Draco over the fact that the Falcons finished last in the 1999 season. He preferred _not_ to remember that year!

As play reached the hour point, Draco ordered them a pair of Butterbeers from a passing vendor while Hermione enthusiastically cheered at the goal Dixon had just made. They smiled at one another as he handed her one of the bottles.

Turns out, Hermione wasn’t a terrible companion. She booed when the Tornados made a dirty play, gasped when the Snitch was nearly caught, and engaged in conversation with him about the game. Draco had always been determined to enjoy the match; he just hadn’t anticipated that Hermione would actually add to that pleasure.

“Did you know I got my first broomstick when I was four?” Draco asked while the teams paused for a time out. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Was it in your notecards?”

Draco laughed, predicting where Hermione was going with the question. “No.”

“Then, no, of course I didn’t know that!” She took a sip from her second Butterbeer of the evening. “Toy broomstick or real broomstick?”

“Real broomstick,” Draco replied, as though it should be obvious. “I likely got my first toy broomstick as soon as I was able to balance upright.” He chuckled at his own remark. “It was a present for my fourth birthday -- the first birthday I really remember. Father was away doing who knows what, and I think he felt guilty for missing it, so he got the broomstick for me. A Comet Two Fifty-Five with specially enhanced Cushioning Charms for when I inevitably fell off of it.”

“And precisely how long did it take for you to fall?”

“Couldn’t have been more than two minutes,” Draco said. “But my mother supervised me the entire time to mend whatever damage I did.” He smiled at the memory. “After that, I became hooked on flying, and soon became obsessed with Quidditch as well. My parents took me to my first game later that summer. Went with Theo Nott, back when our parents were still much closer. Wasps versus Falcons, and the Falcons won.” He took a sip from his drink. “They’ve been my favourite team ever since.”

Another blow of the whistle indicated that gameplay had resumed, but he and Hermione hardly noticed.

“Are you still in contact with Theo Nott?” she asked.

Draco drew in a deep breath. “Not as much as I should be. Heard he’s been having a tough time after the war.” He shifted in his seat, knowing that he was now venturing into much more personal subject matter. Yet, he didn’t stop. “We didn’t talk much at Hogwarts, but before then, we had been rather close, since, well, both of our parents mainly only associated with other pureblood families. In fact, I don’t believe I properly met a Muggle-born before you.”

Hermione’s eyes remained locked on him as his voice grew softer. He could feel his pulse begin to speed up, aware of just how open he was being with Hermione. But the words continued to slip off his tongue, no longer concerned with remaining so closed off around her.

“I was crueller to you than most because you also happened to be friends with Potter,” he confessed, picking at the label around the Butterbeer bottle as he said it. “If it wasn’t for that, I frankly would have just ignored you.” He then looked up at Hermione so she could see the honesty in his eyes. And then, with a swallow, he continued, “Just know that I’m sorry for my treatment all those years. I recognise now that it wasn’t fair of me.”

They blinked at one another, neither one uttering another word until the roar of the crowd brought them back to the game. Carr and the Tornado’s Seeker had both gone in for the dive, but the Snitch had once more evaded both of their grasps.

As they returned their attention to the game, Draco felt Hermione interlace her fingers with his, and for the first time, he didn’t feel the desire to rip his hand away.

~*~*~

“See, this is the problem with the Falcons,” Draco said as they walked down the stairs of the stall. “They rely too heavily on their Beaters to play a strong defence while their Chasers fail to score the necessary points. If Edwards hadn’t missed so many bloody times during the second half of the game, then Carr would have been able to catch the Snitch before Malone had the chance!”

Hermione snickered. “And maybe _that’s_ why they were in last place the other season!”

“Hey!” Draco remarked. “We’re faring _much_ better now!”

They exited the Quidditch pitch hand in hand, and for some concerning reason, it felt completely natural to Hermione. She hadn’t even had to force Draco to do it this time. Perhaps he had finally caught on that it was a necessary element to make their relationship believable.

But what was more surprising was the fact that she had had a wonderful time at the Quidditch match. While Hermione still wasn’t the biggest fan of the sport, the evening had been filled with excitement. And Draco had begun to open up to her.

Over the course of the past few hours, she had learned more about him than she had in the past several years combined. He had even expressed remorse for his treatment towards her. What else was going on inside that brain of his? Now that he had revealed just that sliver to her, she was desperate to know more.

All that was interrupted, however, when a blinding flash came out from behind a corner. 

Hermione and Draco had to pause to let their vision recover. When the black spots began to fade, the instantly recognisable lime green robes with a fur collar came into sight.

“So glad to see you two enjoyed your tickets,” Rita Skeeter cooed, a wicked grin already clear across her face.

As the blonde witch approached them, Hermione couldn’t help but feel disappointed in herself. They should have suspected this would happen! Of course these tickets were more than just a polite courtesy from the _Daily Prophet_. But there was no escaping Rita Skeeter now.

“Our readers are thirsting for more on the Wizarding World’s most unexpected couple,” she said, carefully manicured fingernails playing with the quill in her hand. “Mind if we have a few words?” 

Draco tightened his grip on Hermione’s hand. “If you’d like to speak with us, we can arrange for another interview,” Draco said, but they both knew better than to think Rita Skeeter would accept their refusal so easily.

“No? Shame,” she said, almost sounding pleased by Draco’s dismissive response.

An unsettling coil twisted in Hermione’s stomach as Rita Skeeter took another step towards them, already anticipating that she wouldn’t like what the woman would say next.

One of Rita Skeeter’s gold teeth became visible in the witch’s growing grin. “In that case, how about a little kiss, and I’ll let you two be on your way?”

Draco and Hermione spoke over one another as they both voiced their protestations.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“We aren’t some spectacle for your newspaper!”

But Rita Skeeter did not back down. “Not even just one, short peck?” she taunted. She raised one of her overly pencilled in eyebrows. “_Sure_ you don’t want to flaunt it in all those pureblood supremacists’ faces?”

Hermione felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Rita Skeeter was trying to find that point where she would snap and say something that would give the witch an equally juicy story to report. But Hermione wouldn’t break.

“Draco and I are happily engaged, and-”

But before Hermione could finish, she was pulled from place and the rest of the words became locked inside as her lips were pushed against Draco’s. For the first few moments, Hermione’s eyes remained open, too stunned for her brain to do anything besides try to process what exactly was going on, but soon enough, it all began to sink in. 

Draco was _kissing _her.

It wasn’t much, no more than a basic brush against her lips, but Hermione soon closed her eyes and kissed him back. There was no reason for them to continue -- by now, they must have sufficiently satisfied Rita Skeeter’s request -- and yet, neither of them pulled away. His lips were soft, with traces of Butterbeer still apparent in their taste. He even slinked his arms around her waist, and a gentle hum escaped from inside of Hermione and reverberated against their lips. The surroundings slipped away as she lost herself in the sensation. While unexpected, the kiss was… _nice._

But reality came rushing back the moment it stopped. They stared blankly at one another, unable to react to what they had just done.

“Lovely!” Rita Skeeter said with a clap of her hands, and Hermione remembered why they had kissed in the first place. “I believe that’s everything we needed.” She flashed them one final smile. “I’ll see you two at the engagement party.”

Hermione and Draco remained silent the rest of the way home, no longer holding hands. When they arrived back in the flat, they headed into their bedrooms without discussing what had happened.

In the morning, there was a fresh stack of notecards outside Hermione’s door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the support for this story! I appreciate every single one of you who take the time to read this story and share your thoughts with me.
> 
> Love as always to LightofEvolution.

Hermione picked up the stack of notecards and began to flip through them. Draco’s neat script took up several lines on each one, at least a hundred new cards now in Hermione’s possession.

Her eyes stayed glued to the cards as she slowly made her way to the kitchen where Draco was already seated at the table. She was about to thank him when she noticed his intense focus on the _Sunday_ _Prophet_.

Their kiss from the night before was almost certainly somewhere within those pages. Now that it was the morning, was one of them finally going to address it? Or were they just going to pretend as if it had never happened?

At the moment, Hermione was leaning towards the latter. While she still thought they could have avoided doing it, a kiss only supported the portrait they wanted to curate for the public. There was nothing that needed to be discussed.

Although, she was curious what Rita Skeeter had to say about it. And perhaps a bit more curious to see if their kiss looked as believable as it had felt.

But as Hermione set down the cards and properly looked at Draco, his face appeared too grim for him to be reading about that. Now all the more interested, Hermione circled behind him to determine what had so fully captured his attention.

When she saw the headline, her heart plummeted.

_MUGGLE FAMILY’S HOME ATTACKED. DEATH EATER INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED._

All thought about the kiss promptly vanished from her mind. Without asking, she pulled the newspaper from Draco’s hands and began to read the article for herself.

_At around quarter past eleven yesterday evening, a Muggle home in the Fulham neighbourhood of London was attacked. Muggle police were called to immediately respond to the incident. In accordance with recently adopted DMLE protocol to suspicious Muggle attacks, Aurors arrived shortly after. Every window in the house was shattered and the structure was destroyed in several places, but at this time, no Muggles appear to have been harmed. Homeowners were away at the time of the attack, but neighbours reported hearing a loud blast. Muggle police remain baffled since they have yet to find any signs of explosives. Aurors Harry Potter and Cassius Cooper are presently inspecting possible leads. _

Hermione threw down the paper. Without saying a word to Draco, she grabbed her cloak and Apparated, the echo of his concerned call faintly audible as she disappeared from his sight.

~*~*~

“What do you know?” Hermione demanded, not pausing for pleasantries as she barged into the office. 

“Morning to you, too, Hermione,” Harry grumbled.

His desk was completely covered with files of parchments, each one dated with the various attacks on Muggles. Harry himself looked a dishevelled mess, exhaustion evident in his weary eyes. His hair was more unkempt than usual, and a teapot was pouring what she suspected was far from his first cup of the morning.

He released a heavy sigh as he stretched his arms over his head and leaned back in his chair. “I take it you’ve read the paper?”

“Obviously,” Hermione said, welcoming herself to pick up one of the files and begin reading. “Have you found any connections to the other attacks?”

“Working on it,” Harry replied. “But these attacks are so different from one another, it’s been difficult. Although, we do have a new lead.”

He opened one of the case files and revealed a series of Muggle photographs. Hermione took them into her hands and began to examine them. The pictures were dark and low quality, but in the background of each of the images, she could make out the form of a masked figure.

“The Muggle family had security cameras that we were able to pull stills from,” Harry explained, but Hermione’s focus was stuck on one of the pictures.

She levitated the photograph and cast an _Engorgio _so they could better see the mask.

Hermione stepped towards the now enlarged image. “That design is different from other Death Eater masks,” she noted, running a finger over where the mask was visible. “I can’t make out much of the colouring, but the swirls have changed. The old ones were symmetrical, but this pattern seems to be random.”

Harry came up next to her, observing the same point in the photograph. “Precisely,” he said. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on the fabric of his robes. “Which is why we’re starting to believe that these attacks aren’t being done by former Death Eaters. This is a new generation.”

Hermione whipped her attention to Harry, an unnerved feeling settling in her gut. “Like a group of neo-Death Eaters?”

He let out a long, tired exhale. “That’s the current theory.” Harry shrunk the evidence back to its original size and returned it to the case file. He slumped into his chair and rested his hands behind his head. “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. The attacks started small, relatively harmless. But with each one, they’re getting more intricate. More dangerous. It's as if whatever group is behind this has been testing themselves and grown more confident with each new attack. If those Muggles had been home, they would have been seriously injured, if not killed.”

Hermione considered the statement, not liking the conclusion she was drawing. “So you believe it’s just a matter of time before these attacks turn fatal?”

Harry drew in a deep breath. “Yes,” he answered with a heavy tone. “But the question remains. _Who_ is doing this?”

~*~*~

Draco had carefully watched her every expression when Hermione had snatched the paper from him, her face shifting from concern to outrage in a matter of mere moments. He knew her well enough to conclude she wouldn’t react well to the report of another attack on Muggles, but he hadn’t expected her to leave in such a hastened rage.

And now it had been hours since Hermione had left. He had a hunch she had gone to speak with Potter, but did that really take all day?

Time ticked on, and Hermione still didn’t return home. Draco ignored the uneasiness that grew inside of him the longer he didn’t hear from her. Certainly she hadn’t been foolish enough to try to track down the attackers herself, right? But then again, she was a sodding Gryffindor...

He tried to distract himself with other activities. He first made to study Hermione’s stack of notecards, but by this point, he could recite every word on them by memory. He then attempted to write more cards for her, but after staying up til near three in the morning filling out new ones, he wasn’t sure what else to include. He next considered immersing himself in one of his books, but he had already read all of them.

Growing desperate, Draco eyed the books on Hermione’s shelves. There, on the bottom, was that book _War and Peace_ Hermione had mentioned during their interview with Rita Skeeter. He knew they had agreed not to touch each other’s things, but they had already broken so many of their other terms. Surely she wouldn’t mind if he borrowed it for the afternoon? After all, she had already told the world that he had read it, so _technically_ he was doing it to aid in the validity of their “relationship.”

Draco settled onto the sofa and opened to the first page of the thick novel. He did his best to focus on the book, but dear Merlin, the language of it was making it difficult! Although, it didn’t help that every few minutes, Draco caught himself glancing at the fireplace, wondering if the green flames had finally come to life. 

They hadn’t.

It was now edging on six, meaning that Hermione had been gone for nearly nine hours. A soft rumble emitted itself from Draco’s stomach. He supposed he should start making dinner. And perhaps as an official peace offering with Hermione, he could make a serving for her as well.

Giving up on the book for the time being, Draco made his way to the kitchen. He got distracted, however, when he passed the table and saw the newspaper resting where Hermione had left it.

Draco picked it up and flipped through the rest of the pages he hadn’t yet read. He stopped when he found their picture on the third page.

Again and again, he watched the photograph of him clench the fabric of her matching jersey as the other hand pulled Hermione’s head in until their lips connected. His heart leapt at the memory of the kiss, remembering the blissful softness of the embrace.

He had never intended to kiss her, but when Rita Skeeter had tempted them with the possibility of irritating pureblood supremacists, Draco couldn’t help but imagine how much the image of him and Hermione together would outrage someone like Pucey. Before Draco could talk himself out of it, he had gone in for the kiss. What concerned him now, though, was the fact that he hadn’t hated it.

But there was a logical reason for that. It had simply been a while since he had kissed anyone. _And_ it was a biological reflex to enjoy kissing. A science. Attributed to the fact that there was an increased number of nerve endings in the lips, heightening the pleasure of it. It had nothing to do with the fact that after their argument, he and Hermione had ultimately had an enjoyable evening at the Quidditch match.

He folded up the newspaper and returned it to the table, making a mental promise to himself to not repeat such an action with Hermione. One kiss was enough to demonstrate their affection to the public. There was no need to do it again.

And maybe that would be enough to squash the lurching in his chest every time he thought about what they had done.

~*~*~

Draco was once more lounged across the sofa, trying not to fall asleep while reading _War and Peace_ as he waited for dinner to finish cooking, when a popping noise prompted him upright. Grogginess immediately escaped his body the moment he spotted her.

“Where have you-”

The inclination to chide her for disappearing without a word all those hours ago died when he recognised the fatigue on her features.

“What’s wrong?” he asked instead.

Hermione didn’t bother to take off her cloak before collapsing on the sofa. She reclined across the length of the cushions, her head ending just short of where Draco was presently seated.

“I spent all day with Harry,” she explained, dragging two heavy hands down her face. “We reviewed all the old case files of the various Muggle attacks and went back to the location of some of the incidents to see if there was anything that the Aurors had previously overlooked.”

Draco furrowed his brow as he peered down at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s job?” 

Hermione sighed. “Yes, but clearly they’re not getting anywhere, so I thought I’d see if I could help in any way.”

“And?” Draco asked. “Did you figure anything out?”

“Some,” she said, propping herself up so she was seated properly next to him. “We now believe that this is the work of a new wave of Death Eaters, not ones who were ever involved with Voldemort.” She paused to swallow before saying, “Which means it’s possibly someone we knew in school.”

Draco stared at her, unable to react. He had been convinced that it was the work of former Death Eaters, witches and wizards who had been inconsequential enough during the war to evade Azkaban but were still bitter about how it had ended. Never had he considered that it could be someone that he personally knew…

Hermione’s gaze was soft as she looked at Draco. “Can you think of anyone who-”

Draco shook his head, not needing her to finish the question. “Can’t be Crabbe of course. Potentially Goyle, but he doesn’t have the brain cells to organise attacks like these, so if he’s involved, he’s just a pawn. And not Nott either. Even during the war, he wanted nothing to do with his father and all… that.”

“What about Zabini?”

Draco again dismissed the question. “Zabini didn’t particularly care for Muggle-borns, but he was always more talk than anything. He’d never...” The words trailed away as memory of last night once more crept to the forefront of Draco’s mind. His lips curved into a snarl. “_Pucey_.”

Anger began to fill him, remembering the way Pucey had wiped his hand on his robes after shaking it with Hermione, but she quickly rejected Draco’s suggestion.

“Why not?” Draco demanded. “I told you what he did last night! That’s a clear indicator that he still believes that Muggle-borns are inferior, so who’s to say that-”

Hermione held up her hand to stop him. “Because I already considered him,” she reasoned. “I told Harry about what you had witnessed, but the game didn’t end until just before eleven last night.”

“So?” Draco continued to challenge. “He could have gone to the Muggle home directly following the game. And how do we know he even stayed until then?”

“Do you really think I didn’t think of that?” she contended. “Trust me, I worked through all the possibilities, but Harry’s partner got third-party reports to confirm that Pucey stayed until the end.” Draco opened his lips to protest again, but Hermione cut him off before he had the chance. “And before you ask, yes, Harry said that the Auror Department will continue to keep him in mind, but as of right now, there’s no evidence to support making him a suspect.”

Draco tried to think of any other ways they could test Pucey’s involvement, but Hermione seemed to have done a thorough job. Not that he was surprised. She was Hermione Granger, after all.

And yet, he still wasn’t entirely convinced. “I don’t want him at our engagement party.”

Hermione drew in a deep breath. “I’m not entirely thrilled at the idea of him being there either, but it’ll be a good chance for us to have more direct contact with him and perhaps uncover more if he _is_ involved.”

Draco considered it. He supposed that wasn’t terrible reasoning. Although it did mean that he would be keeping a close eye on the wizard the entire night.

Assuming the conversation to be over, Draco began to get up, but Hermione once more slumped down across the sofa. This time, however, her head now laid rested against his thigh. 

Draco stilled at the slight contact of their bodies, but Hermione didn’t appear the least bit fazed. Instead, all he could perceive from her was distress.

He felt the subtle rise of her head as she closed her eyes and slowly inhaled. When her vision returned, Hermione stared at the sofa cushion.

“I know it was wishful thinking,” she said, her voice weak as she spoke, “but I really hoped all this would disappear once Voldemort was defeated.”

Draco peered down at her, his gaze soft as he formulated his response. “It’s… tricky to change the belief you’ve been instilled with since birth,” he calmly stated. “It takes several years of _wanting_ to change and opening yourself to opportunities that will help you see otherwise.”

Hermione shifted her focus, her brown eyes now looking up at him. “You really don’t believe it anymore,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Draco shook his head anyway. “I saw enough during the war to convince me that this wasn’t something worth fighting over. Your blood is no different from mine.”

Their eyes remained locked on one another for a few seconds before Hermione returned her gaze to the cushion. “Whoever is involved in these attacks must not have actually fought with the Death Eaters during the war,” she said, her tone still soft. “Someone who didn’t really have to experience what it was like.”

A slow intake of air filled Draco’s lungs. “Fortunately and unfortunately, I was the only one of our peers who was truly burdened with that plight, so that doesn’t help narrow down our suspects.”

Contemplative silence lingered over them, neither feeling the need to say anything more. Draco felt a strange twitch in his fingers to somehow reach out and comfort her in some form, but he did not submit to the temptation. Instead, all he said was, “Don’t worry. You and Potter will figure it out. You always do.”

They remained there for several more moments until Hermione turned her head towards the coffee table and sat up. She outstretched her hand and picked up her copy of _War and Peace._

“Were you reading this?”

Draco shrugged, a small smile finding its way across his lips. “Not all of us spend our Sundays trying to solve major crimes.”

She snorted before flipping to the bookmarked page where Draco had left off. “What do you think so far?”

“Terribly boring,” he confessed, groaning at the mere thought of the book. “Don’t know how you love this Tolstoy fellow so much. I had to set it down multiple times, and-” 

Draco paused mid-sentence and rushed to the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” she tauntingly called after him. “Do you have an aversion to discussing literature or something?”

But Draco hardly registered what she had said, much to preoccupied with the fact that he had completely forgotten about the food in the oven. Thankfully, it wasn’t burned. When he pulled it out and turned towards the table, Hermione was watching him from the kitchen entry.

“What’s that?”

“What does it look like?” he said, the hot dish still in his hands. “I made us dinner.”

He moved past her, but she followed close on his heels. “Us?"

“Yes, _us_,” he replied. “Not sure how your body functions, but I prefer to eat around this time of day, so I thought you might be hungry whenever you bothered coming home.” He set the dish on the table and then used his wand to cool it to proper serving temperature. “Now, if you’re done with your incessant questioning, I suggest you get out plates and silverware. I’m starving." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the amazing support for this fic! After this, there is one more chapter to wrap it all up which will be uploaded next Thursday. Until then, I hope you enjoy this one :)
> 
> Endless love as always to the incredible LightofEvolution

The following work week was a vast improvement over the prior one. Although, that wasn’t a particularly impressive feat. 

As Hermione had expected, Monday was once more filled with furtive glances, but they weren’t nearly as menacing as they had been previously. Perhaps after seeing her and Draco’s picture in the _Prophet_, people had begun to mildly accept the couple. Not that it mattered to Hermione whether or not they approved of her apparent engagement. Even if it wasn’t all for show, she wouldn’t have cared one beetle eye about their opinions. As long as they let her do her work in peace, they could think and believe whatever they wanted.

The more significant change of the week, however, was between her and Draco. Ever since dining together Sunday evening, they continued to eat dinner together. Whoever got home first started cooking the meal, and then the other would set the table and do the cleaning when they were done.

It was much more pleasant than eating alone like she had done the week before. They asked each other questions about the things they had shared on their notecards and even discussed their days at work — which, Hermione finally discovered, Draco worked as an Ancient Runes translator for Gringotts. Now that they had found a way to peacefully communicate with one another, living together wasn’t as insufferable as she had originally anticipated.

There was still one major thing she had avoided discussing with him, though, and come Thursday, she couldn’t delay it any longer. Their engagement party was now only two days away, and she still hadn’t brought him to her parents’ house for the proper introduction she had promised her mother. When she assured Draco that it wouldn’t be anything formal, no more than dessert while her parents’ asked him questions, he agreed easily enough.

Which was how she and Draco were now standing outside her childhood home.

“Just... be polite to them,” she said, masking the nerves that were jittering inside of her.

“Think I’ll say something cruel just because they’re Muggles?” Draco asked. He raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t we been over this enough times?”

Hermione gave him a quick side glare. “I’m not worried about _that_,” she was shocked to find herself admitting. “I’m more concerned about what snarky comments you might make.”

Draco grinned. “I see now,” he taunted. “You’re afraid I’ll make a bad first impression on my _fiancée’s_ parents.”

Hermione swatted him with the back of her hand as he erupted in playful laughter. She understood that he was only toying with her, both of them aware that this meeting wouldn’t be of any great significance once they survived the engagement party, yet she still didn’t want it to go poorly. When his laughter subsided, Hermione rang the doorbell and sent one more prayer to Godric, Rowena, and Helena that the night wouldn’t be a disaster.

It was Hermione’s mother who opened the door and greeted Hermione with a warm hug.

“And you must be Draco,” Hermione’s mother said, her smile vibrant as she welcomed the guest. “You may call me Jean.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jean,” Draco returned. He then outstretched the bottle of wine he had insisted on bringing. “Not sure if you’ve had the pleasure of having elf made wine, so I thought I’d bring you some.”

“No, we have not, so thank you,” Jean said. “Come on in. I’ll go get your father, Hermione, and then we’ll pop this bottle open.”

Hermione and Draco entered the home, and she watched Draco intently as he observed the space. It wasn’t as if her parents’ home was anything to be embarrassed about — her parents were both dentists and had always been able to maintain a nice standard of living — she was more curious to see how he would react to the fact that it was a Muggle home.

His eyes roamed around the room, pausing on less familiar objects such as the lamps and the telephone, but none of them elicited any notable reaction. It wasn’t until he looked at the fireplace that Draco’s expression began to change. He approached the mantle lined with a series of framed photographs and picked up the one from her seventh birthday. She waited for him to say something about the fact that the photograph didn’t move, but instead, he just chuckled.

“You’re cute in this one.” 

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. She walked up next to him and got a better look at the picture. “Nothing about my bushy hair? My denim overalls? My oversized front teeth?”

Draco snorted as he returned the photograph to its spot. “Your hair makes you you. Overalls are a horrible fashion trend on anyone. And you grew into those teeth eventually.”

Hermione opted not to comment on the fact that the only reason her teeth didn’t still look like that was because he had hexed them during their fourth year and she had used it as an excuse to get Madam Pomfrey to shrink them to average size. Instead, she decided to take the compliment as it was.

A sincere compliment.

She felt a small blush begin to creep up her cheeks as Draco smiled at her, but the moment was snapped short when they heard footsteps approaching. Jean returned to the sitting room with the wine and a freshly baked fruit cake while Hermione’s father, Peter, followed closely behind with four long stemmed glasses. When he set them down, Hermione embraced him with a hug. 

“Good to see you,” Peter said, squeezing his daughter tight. He pulled out from the hug and then addressed Draco, his expression turning stern. “And you’re the man who got my daughter into this... _business_.”

Peter sat down on the sofa beside Jean as Draco and Hermione settled into the two armchairs across from them. Apparently, they were cutting directly to the reason they were there.

“In Draco’s defence, I entirely agreed to be a part of this,” Hermione said. She poured a glass of wine and handed it to Draco before repeating the action for herself. 

“Yes, but it was still his idea,” her mother sided with her father. “But your father and I have already expressed those concerns to you, Hermione, so we won’t repeat them here.” Jean poured two full glasses for herself and Peter. “In which case, Draco, why don’t you start off by telling us about yourself. We ought to know something about our daughter’s… fiancé.”

The rest of the evening proceeded as Draco and Hermione recounted their past two weeks together, as well as their strained past before then. Hermione’s parents were no strangers to the way Draco had antagonised her during school — it had been impossible to hide it from them after they had witnessed Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy getting in a skirmish with one another in the middle of Flourish and Blotts the summer before second year. She had done her best to shield most of it from them, to not concern them with the way that some parts of the wizarding population saw her as inferior, but as war grew nearer, it had become impossible. And once she had recovered their memories when the fighting had concluded, she had opened up to them about everything.

Her parents had every right to be concerned about her involvement with Draco — even if none of it was real. Draco assured them time and time again that he had learned from the mistakes of his past and was now committed to proving that change to everyone around him, but it wasn’t until Hermione swore to her parents that she _felt_ that change that they slowly began to accept it. In the end, Hermione’s parents ultimately trusted her judgment, and this instance was no different.

The third degree questioning concluded, and after they had finished another bottle of wine and devoured half the fruit cake (most of which was done by Draco and her father), the conversation was coming to a close.

“Hermione, will you help me carry the dirty plates and clean up a bit in the kitchen?” Jean asked.

Hermione did as her mother requested, but when Hermione entered the kitchen, it was already spotless.

“I want to speak with you one-on-one,” Jean said as she dropped the dirty dishes into the sink.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” Jean assured her. “I just want to double-check. You and Draco aren’t _really_ dating, right?”

“Goodness, no,” she hastily replied. She looked at her mother, confused. “Why would you even think that?”

Jean gave her daughter a disbelieving look before turning on the faucet and starting to wash off the plates. “You two looked rather comfortable near each other when your father and I walked in.”

“That was nothing, Mum,” Hermione dismissed. She pulled out her wand to charm a sponge to do the work so her mother’s attention wasn’t elsewhere. “Draco said something unexpectedly nice. That’s all. But it’s just an act.” Hermione paused, realising her words hadn’t come out exactly as she had intended. “Or rather, yes, he’s significantly nicer to me now than he’d ever been in our past, but that’s because all this time together has forced us to finally tolerate one another. Nothing more than that. When our two months are over, we’ll go back to the way things were before.”

Even as Hermione said those final words, though, she began to question if that was really true. _Could_ they go back to the way things were before? Just two weeks ago, they had barely been able to hold a few sentences of conversation before breaking into an argument. In fact, she didn’t think they had fought over something since before the Quidditch game.

And then this past week had happened. After a long day at work, she had actually looked forward to her dinners with Draco. The more she continued to learn about him, the more she enjoyed their conversations. Enjoyed spending time with him...

Her mother asked the question Hermione hadn’t dared ask herself.

“Do you like him?”

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. Did she _like_ him? It was such a loaded question, with so many interpretations.

She answered as honestly as she could. “He’s different than I expected.”

But like her daughter, Jean wasn’t easily fooled. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Hermione leaned against the counter and sighed. “That’s because it’s not a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ with him.”

The plates now clean, Jean shut off the water and rested next to Hermione. “What’s going on inside your head?”

“You’ve heard about all the dreadful things he said and did to me when we were younger,” Hermione began. She briefly snorted. “To say we didn’t like each other is putting it mildly.”

“But that was in the past, darling. You two made it sound like things have changed.”

Hermione peered through the crack of the open door to see Draco and her Dad laughing about something in the sitting room. The sight alone made her smile. At least, for a moment.

“I know,” Hermione eventually said, her serious demeanour returning. “And they feel like they have. But I guess I just want to make sure that this isn’t temporary.” She took in a deep breath and then turned to her mother. “Do you believe people can sincerely change?”

Jean combed her fingers through Hermione’s hair. “They can if they really want to.”

That was essentially what Draco had told her Sunday night.

She once again shifted her gaze to watch him, letting her resulting smile linger longer than she had previously. Only this time, Draco happened to glance towards the kitchen and their eyes connected from across the room. He mirrored the smile, prompting a flutter to stir inside her.

There was no use denying that she liked Draco. As a human at least.

The real question now, though, was how _much_ she liked him.

Hermione pushed the thought aside. Of course she didn’t like him like that. This was still just an act.

An act that was growing entirely too believable.

Any feelings she may or may not have developed for him were merely a result of participating in this charade. None of it was real. None.

~*~*~

Draco adjusted the knot of his tie in the mirror. In an attempt to further underscore the Malfoys’ acceptance of Hermione’s familial background, the engagement party guests were encouraged to wear either wizarding or Muggle attire. And since Hermione had told him she’d be wearing a dress, Draco figured he ought to stick to Muggle clothes as well.

“We need to go!” Hermione called from beyond the barrier of his bedroom door. “We told my parents we’d be there at four!”

Draco did one final check to make sure not a single strand of hair was out of place before he stepped out of his room to join her. “Alright, I’m-”

His words fell short as he got a glimpse of Hermione. Her typically bushy hair had been smoothed out so the individual curls were more distinct than usual, and there was a light layer of makeup adorning her features. The dress she had selected was a pale shade of pink with a subtle floral pattern scattered throughout. It wrapped around her waist, allowing the skirt to freely flow as she moved towards him, revealing the length of her bare legs where the fabric was split.

He had to blink several times to properly convince himself that this image of Hermione wasn’t just in his head. The only other time she had rendered him so speechless had been during the Yule Ball. Even he had to admit that she had been beautiful that night. And now today...

“Is something the matter?” 

A thick swallow travelled down his throat as her voice pulled him back to the present. “Not at all,” Draco stated, hoping the lurching in his stomach wouldn’t make Apparating too uncomfortable. He outstretched his hand for Hermione to take. “Ready when you are.”

~*~*~

The venue for the engagement party was nearly done being set up by the time Draco and Hermione arrived. In proper taste, Narcissa had avoided anything cliche or gaudy. No large banners announcing “She Said Yes!” or diamond-ring inspired decor. As with everything Malfoy family related, this was a classy function, sticking to timeless floral arrangements and simple, but elegant centrepieces. 

Draco peered around the room, seeking his parents out among the throngs of assisting staff bustling around the space in final preparations. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Hermione, mild apprehension weighing on her features.

“We just need to make small talk for a few hours and then this will be over with,” he remarked, not sure if he was saying it more to appease her concerns or his. “This is what all that studying of those notecards was for, right?”

But Hermione didn’t appear any less concerned. “I’m not worried about that,” she said. “I just... I was so preoccupied with my own parents for today, I hadn’t considered the fact that I’d be seeing yours.”

Draco followed Hermione’s gaze, finding his mother and father directly in front of them, overseeing the setup. Without thinking, he took hold of Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s going to be fine,” he assured her, offering her a gentle smile. “As I already told you, it’s not just me who changed after the war. It was my parents as well.” He released a short chuckle. “In fact, this whole ordeal was originally my mother’s idea, so trust me, they will be nothing but nice.” He tightened his grip around her hand. “Come. I’ll properly introduce you.”

Leading Hermione across the room, Draco wove through the maze of linen-covered tables and stopped beside his parents. When they arrived, Narcissa greeted her son with a kiss on the cheek and then settled her attention on Hermione.

“Miss Granger,” she said with a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Lingering tension in Hermione’s shoulders seemed to fade at his mother’s friendly welcome. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, too, Mrs Malfoy.”

“Call me, Narcissa, dear,” the other woman returned. “After all, you are engaged to my son.”

A strange surge pulsed through Draco at the way his mother said the statement as if there was no pretense involved, but the sensation didn’t last long once his father addressed Hermione.

“My family thanks you for agreeing to this,” Lucius said. “And I sincerely hope, for all our sakes, that these attacks on Muggle-borns stop. It will be best for everyone if we leave those prejudices behind with the war.”

She blinked at Lucius, seemingly startled by the remark. While Draco knew how much he and his parents had grown in the past few years, Hermione seeing it for herself must have been a shock. But all their words were sincere.

Since the war, the Malfoys’ priorities had changed. Yet the vast majority of wizarding society — which, until recently, included Hermione — refused to believe it. The past two weeks had seemed to change her perspective on him, though. But it wasn’t as if Draco could pretend to be engaged to every single person in Wizarding England to prove it to them as well.

Which brought him back to why they were there. Why he currently had his fingers interlaced with Hermione’s as if they were anything more than two people who had come to an agreement for mutual benefit.

From across the room, two more adults entered, and Hermione lit up.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to her present company. “My parents just arrived.”

Hermione dismissed herself, and Draco kept his vision trained on her as she floated across the room. She gave Jean and Peter a hug as if they hadn’t just seen each other the night before.

“How is everything proceeding with Miss Granger?” Lucius asked, pulling Draco’s attention back to his parents.

“Better than anticipated,” he answered truthfully. “She’s… not terrible.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together, but Draco could still detect the slight upward twitching on the edges of her lips. “You two appear quite comfortable with one another.” Her graceful smile broke its way to the surface. “And I must say, the family ring seems to suit her.”

But Draco was no longer listening. His focus had been drawn back to Hermione, unable to stay away from her that long. She was still with her parents, her features aglow as she spoke with them.

“I better greet Jean and Peter,” Draco stated, not concerning himself with whatever his mother had just said. “But we can discuss this more later.”

As Draco turned from his parents, he could have sworn he caught them grinning at one another.

~*~*~

Within the hour, the room was filled with party guests. It seemed as if Narcissa had not been scarce with her invitations. Not only were their old pureblood family friends in attendance, but so were members of a whole slew of other groups. Ministry officials, Hogwarts professors, even former members of the Order of the Phoenix. If Draco had to guess, half the Wizarding population was in attendance. Or at least, it bloody felt like it.

Draco and Hermione had so far spent the entire evening going from guest to guest, thanking them for coming. And as Hermione had predicted, all their studying proved worthwhile. Their conversations flowed without a hitch, and not a soul appeared the least suspicious that all of this was a ruse.

Tuning out their present conversation with someone at the Ministry that Hermione worked with, Draco assessed the rest of the room. A tableful of Gryffindors was pretending not to stare at him and Hermione while they conversed and sipped their drinks. His mother was currently immersed in a conversation with Jean while Peter hadn’t been able to escape Arthur Weasley all evening. And Rita Skeeter was bouncing around the room, no doubt getting quotes about the “happy couple” for tomorrow’s paper. But there was one wizard in particular that Draco was searching for.

Finally, in a far off corner, Draco spotted him. _Pucey_.

Astoria was next to him, joined by many of Draco’s other former Slytherin housemates, including, much to Draco’s annoyance, Pansy. He wrinkled his nose. After the Howler her family had sent, she had no business being there.

Pansy’s eyes flitted upwards and caught Draco’s from across the room. A taunting grin stretched across her lips, only prompting a returning snarl from Draco.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked once their conversation with her co-worker had concluded.

Draco shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, not wanting to bother her with the cause of his present irritation. “I just need a break. I’ll be right back.”

He slipped through the crowd and headed through the exit and towards the washrooms, desiring even a moment or two alone to regain his composure before stepping back out there. The prattling of the crowd lessened as Draco proceeded down a corridor, and already his head felt clearer. But that didn’t last long.

“I can’t believe that after everything, you’re betraying us like this.”

Ire bubbled inside Draco as he turned around, confronted with the icy scowl of Pansy.

“_Betraying?_” He scoffed. “You and I must have different standards of what that constitutes.”

Pansy folded her arms across her chest as she took a step closer to him. “Don’t act as if you are suddenly so much better than all of us.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Or have you forgotten everything you did during the war?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Draco countered. “But I’m more than the actions of my past.”

Pansy merely rolled her eyes. “You can keep telling yourself that, but we know who you truly are. Whatever this is with Granger is just a phase.” She smirked. “And eventually, you’ll come back around.”

Frustration and anger continued to boil inside Draco, but one word in particular stood out to him.

“What do you mean _‘we?’”_

Pansy merely chuckled at him. “You wish you knew.”

He narrowed his gaze, trying to determine what precisely was so funny to her, but then, it dawned on him. “You know who’s behind the attacks, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” she toyed. Her grin turned vicious. “But clearly you’re no longer on the same team as us, so why should I tell you?”

“Why did you even bother coming then?” Draco challenged instead of answering her question.

Pansy shrugged in clear indifference. “Had to see it for ourselves,” she responded with blasé breeze. “How the boy who was the first to ever call her a Mudblood somehow became a blood-traitor with that very same witch.”

Draco felt his lips twitch in whole-hearted animosity. “You never gave yourself the chance to know her.”

“And I don’t intend to,” Pansy clearly retorted. She took yet another step towards him, prompting Draco to back up, now flush against the wall. “But don’t fool yourself, Draco. This is just a temporary fascination. You’ll come to your senses. And when you do,” she trailed a thin finger down the length of his chest, “you’ll remember what side you’re really on.”

Pansy grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and before he could stop it, her lips were against his, forcing him into a kiss. There was something familiar about it, reminiscent of all the times they had done this when they were younger, but all he could focus on was how the kiss felt so completely and utterly wrong.

He thought back to just last week when it had been Hermione in this place instead. The soft feel of her lips. The sweet allure of her taste. The blissful sensation of her embrace. 

He hadn’t enjoyed kissing her because of some unavoidable, innate reaction. He had enjoyed kissing her because it felt _right._

Draco wedged his hands between their bodies and pushed Pansy away. Sharp words of reproach began to form on his tongue, but they promptly died when he noticed Hermione standing a few paces away, hurt swelling in her gaze.

“Whoops,” Pansy tauntingly cooed, a mischievous smile stretched wide across her freshly kissed lips. “It appears as if we’ve been caught.”

He and Hermione stared at one another, words continuing to fail Draco as she gaped at him in disbelief. Emptiness numbed him over, considering what Hermione had just witnessed. What it must look like to her. Even if there really was nothing between them, which he was now starting to seriously doubt, Hermione didn’t deserve him kissing other witches behind her back. Fake or not, he was her fiancé.

It was only after Hermione shoved her way between him and Pansy and began storming away that he found his voice again.

“Hermione, wait!” Draco ran after her, only pausing for a moment to glare at Pansy with deep disdain before continuing with his pursuit. “Hermione!” he cried again, but she didn’t slow down.

She turned a corner and located the women’s washroom. Before Draco could catch up, she slammed the door behind her and sealed it shut with a charm. Draco pounded on the barrier, begging for Hermione to let him in.

“I can explain!” he shouted after several attempts with no response. Still, he didn’t leave.

Eventually, the door flung open, Hermione’s eyes red with the evidence of tears.

“You have three seconds before I slam this door in your face.”

Draco’s heart plummeted, remembering her utterance of those exact words just two weeks ago. Back then, he couldn’t have cared less how Hermione felt, only concerned about what he would get out of this deal, but that was no longer true. A pang of guilt rippled through him as he surveyed the witch, so consumed by the evident pain etched across her features that any attempt at words proved futile.

“It’s fine if you’re still with Pansy,” Hermione said when Draco didn’t respond. She was blinking more than usual, likely trying to combat any more tears from shedding in front of him. “It’s not like you and I are _actually_ together,” she continued, working through the choke in her voice as she feigned ambivalence. “I just thought you respected me enough to not go kissing someone else at our engagement party, even if this is all fake.”

A tight clench gripped around his heart. “It’s not what you think.”

Agony tore at his insides. He ought to tell her then, that this no longer felt fake to him. That he enjoyed spending time with her. Thought she was beautiful. Wanted to kiss her again and not just for show.

But any plans of telling her that quickly derailed when he recalled the details of his conversation with Pansy. Suddenly, everything started to make sense. 

“We need to find Potter. _Now_.”

He grabbed Hermione’s hand, urging her to come with him, but she didn’t budge.

“Do it yourself,” she said, hurt still lingering in her tone. “I need a few more minutes.”

But Draco wasn’t giving up so easily. “This can’t wait,” he said, now with pressing urgency. “Whoever’s behind the Muggle attacks is here.”

Her eyes lit up with alarm. “What?”

“Pansy, she—” Draco began, but he stopped before he finished. There was so much he had to say to her, but there was no time to waste. “I promise I’ll explain everything once we find Potter,” he settled, hoping that his pleading tone would be enough to convince her. “But right now, you need to trust me.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione kept an attentive eye on Draco as he dragged Harry, and by association Ron, to a corner of the engagement party, away from most of the guests. 

“I believe the perpetrators of the Muggle attacks are here,” Draco whispered as soon as they were out of nearly everyone’s earshots.

Harry and Ron exchanged concerned glances before Harry retrieved his wand and cast a _Muffliato_ charm around the four of them. He then faced Draco. “What do you know?”

Curiosity wrinkled Draco’s eyebrows as he watched the thin, protective layer of the spell surround them so no one could overhear the conversation. “What charm was that?” he asked.

But Harry shook his head as he returned his wand to his robes pocket. “Not important,” Harry dismissed before he repeated, “_What_ do you know?”

Draco glanced at Hermione, her arms resolutely folded across her chest as she stood next to her two best friends, still straining to prevent her heartache from becoming too visible. She couldn’t get the image out of her head.

After Draco had dismissed himself from the party, Hermione could tell that more was bothering him than he had let on. She had gone after him, hoping to somehow help, but instead had found him in lip-lock with Pansy Parkinson.

Everything had seemed to crumble inside of her as she witnessed Draco in some other witch’s embrace. He must have sensed her presence, for he eventually pushed Pansy away, but the damage had already been done.

It was only then that Hermione knew the answer to her mother’s question. Undeniable disappointment tore at her insides, like a stab through the heart. How had she been so foolish to fall for this? To believe that there was a possibility that these past two weeks had meant more to him than just a means to reestablish his family name?

But he had told her that it wasn’t what she thought. That she needed to trust him. A desperate desire to hold out hope had her gripping onto that promise. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but she had never known him to be dishonest.

His gaze was still on her as he began to explain.

“Pansy approached me outside the party,” he started, his words coming out slow as he carefully chose what he said. “She accused me of betraying the Death Eater cause now that I’m with Hermione.”

Ron huffed. “Now that everyone _thinks _you’re with Hermione.”

Hermione caught the way Draco slightly faltered at Ron’s remark. 

“Right,” Draco conceded, but Hermione got the feeling he was now purposefully avoiding her gaze. “Anyway, she told me that my relationship with Hermione is only a phase and that ‘_we’_ know who I truly am. And that ‘_they’_ only came tonight so they could see it for themselves.”

“How does that have anything to do with the Muggle attacks?” Ron asked. “Sounds just like a bunch of nosy Slytherins to me.”

Draco shook his head. “She knows who’s behind the attacks. She essentially said as much. And they’re here. I know it.” He shifted his gaze towards Hermione, a pleading softness in his expression. “You need to believe me.”

None of it explained how he and Pansy had ended up kissing, but if what Draco said was true, then something needed to be done -- regardless of what else had happened in that corridor.

“I believe him,” Hermione said, much to Draco’s apparent relief. “If he says Pansy knows who’s behind the attacks, then we need to stop them before they can do more harm.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Spread word to the other Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix that are here. Seal the doors. Cast an Anti-Apparition charm. I have a plan. And no one’s leaving until we resolve this.”

~*~*~

Potter and Weasley made sure that all the necessary steps were put into action while Draco and Hermione proceeded with the party as if nothing was amiss. They continued to mingle with the guests, only now, Draco was much more aware of their surrounding company. And the tension that still radiated from the witch beside him.

“Pansy kissed _me_,” he said once they had a spare moment alone. Hermione kept her gaze trained forward as he spoke, but he didn’t let that stop him from continuing. “She tried telling me that I’d eventually come back to their side, that everything with you was temporary.” He braced himself for what he confessed next. “But it’s not.”

Hermione promptly turned to look at him, her eyes wide with what he could only interpret as hope. “What do you mean _‘it’s not?’_”

Choosing to see it as a sign, Draco took her hands into his, making it so they were now face to face. He harshly swallowed, praying to Merlin he wasn’t wrong, but everything was telling him that he wasn’t. He gently grazed his thumb over the cool feel of her skin, soaking in the simple pleasure of the touch, not an ounce of his heart faking it. Hermione followed the movement, and when she peered up to meet his gaze, allowing him to catch sight of the twinkling glint in her eyes, Draco’s chest filled with happiness.

“I mean--”

A clinking noise echoed through the room, cutting Draco off. From the front of the space, Potter had a champagne glass lifted high in the air, everyone’s attention now turned to him.

“Tell me later,” Hermione said.

Draco cursed Potter under his breath, even if this was all following their agreed-upon plan.

That irritation placated, though, when Hermione temporarily intertwined their fingers, giving the grip a tight squeeze before dropping it. He glanced in her direction, and she offered him a small smile. 

_Hope._

“I’d like to make a toast,” Potter loudly declared. “To my best friend and my worst enemy.”

A light chuckle filled the room at Potter’s remark, but Draco was only half-listening to the speech. His focus was now on their mission. He surveyed everyone in the room, just like the rest of the people Potter and Weasley had tasked with assistance. Minister Shacklebolt, Professor McGonagall, and far too many Gryffindors and Weasleys to count. All had their wands in hand, waiting in case something happened.

But Draco kept his gaze fixated on Pucey. He still didn’t trust the bloke -- particularly if he had been at the same table as Pansy earlier in the evening. His present table was still filled with other Slytherins, most of whom were other former members of their house Quidditch team. Each of them had harsh glints in their eyes as they listened to Potter speak.

“Never would I have believed it possible, but you make Hermione happy, and that’s all I could have ever asked for.”

At that comment, Hermione glanced up at Draco, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. Potter was merely saying those words for effect, but little did he know that somehow, if the feeling in Draco’s heart was to be believed, there was more truth to that statement than any of them ever could have predicted.

But now had come the point in his speech that they were anxiously anticipating. Draco felt Hermione tense next to him, her hand gripped so tightly around her wand, her knuckles were turning white.

“It’s going to be alright,” Draco assured her before taking hold of his own wand.

“And to Hermione’s parents,” Harry announced, scanning the room. “Jean? Peter? Could you stand up and wave for us?”

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Hermione’s parents arose from their seats and smiled at the crowd. Draco once more located Pucey and fixated his vision on him. He waited for him to reveal his wand, to prove that he was a part of this orchestrated group to attack Muggles.

But Pucey didn’t flinch.

Draco began to second guess Potter’s plan. Potter had contended that if this group of neo-Death Eaters had come to the party, then it was more than out of innocent curiosity like Pansy had made it seem. And yet, even with two Muggles standing seemingly unprotected right in front of them, nothing happened.

Until Draco caught the nearby subtle movement of a hand slipping into a pocket.

Across the table from Pucey, Marcus Flint withdrew his wand and made to aim it directly at Jean and Peter. His lips parted, the beginning formation of words starting to escape, the spell about to be cast.

Adrenaline and fear pulsed through Draco, recognising that he only had milliseconds to react. He extended his arm full length and directed the tip of his wand squarely at Flint. 

“_Stupefy!”_

A clear jet of red sparks propelled across the room, hitting Flint right in the chest.

At once, an outburst of shocked gasps and cries rippled through the crowd, but as expected, Flint hadn’t been working alone. In the resulting chaos, Draco couldn’t discern who cast the next spell, but before he knew it, red, green, and blue sparks illuminated their surroundings as a full-fledged fight erupted.

Draco’s primary concern flashed to Jean and Peter, to make sure that they remained unharmed. Much to his relief, they were safe. A _Protego _charm glistened around them as Hermione ran with them out of the room, a glowing otter encircling them for added protection.

Draco swiftly assessed the room to determine the source of the new attacks. He found Flint, presently stunned on the ground, but three masked figures had now taken up the charge. One of them flung over a table, and the three perpetrators gathered behind it as a base. A steady stream of spells directed their way, but whatever protective charms they had cast on the table seemed to be holding strong. Every few moments, one of them would pop out from behind the barrier to cast an attack, but each time, it was either blocked or it missed entirely.

As combat waged on, Draco fought alongside his former adversaries, now joined in a common cause. Everyone else had escaped the room, including, to Draco’s surprise, Pucey, who dragged Astoria out of there with him, and Pansy, who had clearly not expected the attack and scrambled for her own safety.

Try as they might, the three wizards were outnumbered and almost certainly, out-experienced. Any element of surprise they had hoped to use to their advantage was meaningless now that the initial strike had failed. From their perspective, their only chance now was for escape. But with the building’s outside doors locked and an Anti-Apparition charm surrounding the perimeter, all their options had already been eliminated. It was only a matter of time before their attempts were thwarted and all four of them were in Auror custody.

A long string of spells hit the table, weakening its defences. First came Professor McGonagall with a _Bombarda_. Then came Fleur Delacour with a _Confringo_. And finally, with the table seeming ready to collapse, Minister Shacklebolt stepped up. With a deep call of “_Reducio,_” the table shrunk to the size of a Galleon, exposing the three wizards.

Their protections were nearly gone.

The tallest of the bunch continued to cast _Protego_ spells around them, but they would only last a few seconds before someone was able to pierce through the shield. 

“Malfoy!” Potter shouted over the crashing sound of spells bounding into each other. “You take the left with Ron! Ginny and I will take the right! Follow our lead!”

Nodding his acknowledgement, Draco stood beside Weasley. Potter held up three fingers, giving them the countdown. When he reached zero, they each simultaneously shouted, “_Stupefy_.” Four streams of red shattered the remaining shield before a second round of the Stunning Spell hit the assailants all at once.

A large crack rang in Draco’s eardrums at the collision of the spells as smoke filled the room. When it settled, three bodies now laid beside Flint, all the attackers defeated.

Silence fell upon the room as everyone lowered their wands, the fighting complete. Destroyed centrepieces and scorched flower petals littered the floor as Potter approached the wizards. Draco walked up beside him as they removed the masks, uncovering the identities of the unconscious bodies.

He recognised them at once. Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington, and, as Draco suspected, Goyle. All members of his former Slytherin Quidditch team.

“Disappointing, but unsurprising that Goyle was involved in this,” Draco said with a snarl as he nudged his former friend’s arm with the toe of his shoe. “He always was a blind follower.”

Harry wiped a smudge off one of his glasses lenses. “Can’t say I disagree,” he remarked, “but what’s more interesting is the fact that he’s the only one in this lot who had a Death Eater father.”

Draco re-examined the wizards still laying on the ground. It was true. Flint, Montague, Warrington. None of their fathers had been involved with Voldemort. Meaning they hadn’t been as exposed to the real suffering of the war. Hadn’t seen the way it had destroyed so many lives. To them, the war was something that had happened. Something they may have associated with due to shared beliefs, but didn’t truly understand the lasting implications of. 

So instead they had stuck to those convictions. Hadn’t chosen to learn. To change. And for that, Draco felt sorry for them.

Potter then turned to Draco. “On behalf of the rest of the Auror Department, we thank you for your assistance with this case.”

To Draco’s utmost surprise, Potter was holding out his hand for him to shake. He looked at it for only a brief moment before he accepted.

“Just make sure they get locked away for a long time,” Draco said as their hands locked in a firm grip. “I’d prefer not to have to do this again.”

Minister Shacklebolt directed that the four wizards be taken into custody and brought to the Ministry for immediate questioning. If there were others involved in the previous attacks, he wanted answers as soon as possible. A few Aurors began magically binding Flint, Montague, Warrington, and Goyle’s hands together, and within minutes of them being apprehended, they were gone.

The commotion now fully concluded, someone removed whatever wards had been keeping the guests out of the room. Throngs of people came flooding through the doors, all curious to see the aftermath of what had interrupted the party. Draco spotted his parents, Pucey and Astoria, and even a startled Rita Skeeter, but none of those concerned him at the moment.

He continued to scan the masses of chattering, gawking witches and wizards, until finally, he spotted her, Jean and Peter flanked on either side.

Draco pushed his way more urgently through the crowd, adrenaline from the conflict still raging inside of him. She was safe. Her parents were safe. And now that the neo-Death Eaters were defeated, he and Hermione had other matters to resolve.

As soon as he was close enough, Draco didn’t think twice as he grabbed her hand. He pulled her in tight, a short gasp of surprise escaping her at the sudden movement, but Draco quickly sealed it away, capturing her lips in a firm, unapologetic kiss. 

For the first fleeting moments, Hermione was still, but as soon as she realised what was happening, her arms draped over his shoulders and accepted the affection. She leaned into him, their chests pressed against one another as they both sank deeper into the connection. 

Everything about it was right. The lush smoothness of her lips. The fervent longing of her embrace. The radiating warmth inside Draco’s entire being. There was no denying that what he felt for her was real, and he needed her to know it.

When he drew away, he cupped Hermione’s cheek, a smirk finding its way across his still tingling lips.

“_That’s_ what I mean by it’s not temporary,” he whispered, staring deep into her warm, brown eyes. “And I’m no longer pretending.”

Hermione didn’t hesitate as she pulled him back into her arms, capturing him in another kiss. The hundreds of people around them didn’t matter as Draco lost himself in every sensation.

The charade was over. _This_ was real.

A sharp, encouraging whistle blared from nearby, bringing them out of the kiss. A few feet away stood Seamus Finnigan, fingers still in his mouth as a low applause broke out from the surrounding onlookers. It _was_ their engagement party after all. To the guests, there was nothing unusual about seeing the bride and groom to be kissing, particularly after such a harrowing event.

But then there were the reactions from those who knew it was all a ruse. Or rather, _used to be_.

Peter appeared confused, while Jean merely smiled, a knowing look on her features. Narcissa mirrored Jean’s sentiment, and even Lucius gave Draco one of his rare, approving nods, as if they had secretly hoped this would be the outcome of their little arrangement. But Draco’s favourite reaction, by far, was that of Potter and Weasley. The two stared at the scene in equal befuddlement, Weasley’s jaw hanging slack in gaping astonishment.

Their expression was broken as Rita Skeeter shoved her way past Potter and Weasley so she was now in the front of the crowd, enchanted camera and Quick Notes Quill already poised by her side. 

“It’s safe to say that this engagement party will be talked about for years to come,” she cooed as she addressed Draco and Hermione. “A seemingly impossible match proves that their love cannot be defeated, even in the face of continued prejudice. And just how did this day of unexpected excitement and peril affect our happy couple?”

Draco and Hermione merely grinned at each other before Hermione said, “No comment.”

She looked up at Draco, her lower lip caught between her teeth as a glimmer shone in her eyes. He immediately understood.

“Thank you all for coming, but I believe this concludes our party,” he announced to the guests. “We shall see you all at the wedding.”

The sea of witches and wizards began to mumble to themselves as Hermione kept her focus fixated on Draco. She quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t remember a wedding being a part of our agreement.”

“Perhaps not,” Draco cooly stated, “But you _are_ my fiancée, and I have every intention of making this a long engagement.” He grinned. “Or at the very least, longer than two months.”

Urgent desire taking control, Draco took her hand into his and Apparated them to their flat. They had barely landed before he had her backed against a wall, his lips already crashing onto hers. Her hands settled along his jawline as Draco sank his fingers into her curls, not letting their lips leave one another any more than vitally necessary.

He flicked his tongue across the seam of her lips, and Hermione willfully parted them, allowing him entry. Their tongues met halfway, no care or concern for the fact that just two weeks ago, this very action was a firm _‘never_’ for both parties of the signed agreement. But since then, circumstances had changed and feelings had progressed. Now, Draco wanted this. Wanted _her._ And so much more.

He gathered her in his arms, and Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist as he continued to lean into the kiss. Passion ignited inside him at the burning proximity. But even this wasn’t enough.

Hermione’s fingers began battling with the knot of his tie, she, too, seeming unsatisfied with just a simple snog. Draco rested his forehead against hers, letting their heavy, shallow breaths intermix in the small space between them.

“I should have told you before the party,” he said as Hermione ripped the tie out from under his collar. “The second I saw you this evening, you rendered me speechless.”

Momentary silence fell between them as deep brown met steel grey, but it wasn’t long before both of their eyelids fluttered closed, returning to their growing need. Shortly after the words had left his lips, Hermione was once more kissing him. Heated fervour pulsed through her every movement as she started to slide the shoulders of his blazer down the length of his arms. 

Draco returned her feet to the ground, already missing the closeness of her slender frame. He brushed her away, but only temporarily -- just long enough for him to peer at her, to cherish the ardent longing in her gaze and soak in how badly she wanted this as well.

He intertwined their fingers as he led her into his bedroom, breaking the final condition of their original terms. But forget that sodding agreement. All he cared about was the witch that he now had spread out across his mattress.

“I couldn’t stand the sight of you with Pansy,” she confessed, as if he hadn’t already figured that out for himself. “Everything became clear the moment I thought all of this really was pretend to you.”

Draco couldn’t resist the grin that stretched wide across his lips. “Not pretend,” he avowed, his heart thumping against his chest. “Not anymore. And not ever again.”

One by one, the rest of the layers of their clothing soon laid forgotten on the floor, neither of them having anything left to hide from the other. Soft gasps and deep moans filled the room as they explored one another’s bodies. From the dip of her collarbone to the curve of her breasts, he admired and lavished every inch of her exposed skin. And when Draco buried himself deep inside her folds, Hermione’s back arching at the fullness of his length, he reached a new level of bliss he hadn’t previously thought imaginable.

Every movement, every sound, he ingrained in his memory. Aroused tension built inside him, and just when Draco thought he wouldn’t be able to last much longer, Hermione reached her climax, a wave of euphoric release washing over both of them.

As they laid in bed afterwards, Hermione rested her head on Draco’s chest while he played with the stray wisps of her curls.

“I believe we got more than we initially planned out of this proposal of yours,” Hermione said with contented softness. “After what everyone witnessed today, no one will ever doubt again where the Malfoy family’s allegiances stand.”

“And the culprits behind at least some of the Muggle attacks have been successfully apprehended.” Draco placed a soft kiss in her hair. “But I must say, I quite like the other result as well.”

Hermione tilted her head back and smiled at him. “Can’t say I disagree. Although, if you plan on making this work, you’re going to have to finish _War and Peace_.”

Draco chuckled. “Only if you get your own Falmouth Falcons jersey. I can’t have us matching every time we go to a game together.”

Her eyes sparkled as she peered up at Draco. “Shall I draft up another agreement?”

“Better not,” Draco said with a snort. “We don’t exactly have a good track record in holding to our conditions, and I’d much prefer that this one stays intact.” He pulled her closer. “For now, I like things just the way they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated and bring all the joy 💙
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr ([niffizzle](https://niffizzle.tumblr.com/)) for future story updates and to see what else I'm working on :)


End file.
